My First Night as a Voyeur at a Swinger Club

We arrived at the house on Las Acacias Street after eleven, in a quiet part of El Poblado. Mateo parked the car a block away, without saying a word. I didn’t say anything either. We’d spent weeks going back and forth over the idea, and now that we were there, words felt unnecessary. I could already feel my panties wet under my dress, just from what I was imagining.

The front of the house gave nothing away. A white, two-story house, a black iron gate, and a yellow lamp lit over the door. If it weren’t for that detail, anyone would have thought a family with two children and a dog lived there. That was, precisely, the point.

At the entrance, we were greeted by a tall woman in a black dress and a professional smile. Behind her, a big man in a polo shirt watched us discreetly.

—Is this your first time here? —she asked, with the calm of a hotel receptionist.

—Yes —Mateo replied. I just nodded.

The man checked our bags and charged us the entrance fee. Then, without much ceremony, the woman led us into a small foyer and quietly explained the rules: no photos, no touching without permission, no pressure. Any “no” meant no. If we only wanted to watch, we could only watch. She said it without judgment, like someone repeating a script she’d rehearsed a hundred times.

We went through a heavy velvet curtain and entered the main lounge.

***

At first glance, it looked like any ordinary bar. Blue and pink neon lights, a bar at the back, red vinyl sofas against the walls, an empty dance floor, and tables laid out in a conspiratorial half-darkness. An old salsa tune was playing, the kind grandparents put on. The mix was strange, almost tender.

We sat on one of the sofas against the wall. I ordered a rum and coke, Mateo a beer. From there we could see almost the entire room without effort. The tables were arranged so that it was impossible not to watch the others.

And that was exactly what was happening.

I counted five couples in sight and two threesomes, all over thirty. Some were dressed like they were headed to a Sunday barbecue. Others wore nicer clothes, but nothing that would stand out on the street. A woman near the bar had the face of an elementary school teacher and was laughing softly with her husband, who looked like an accountant.

—There’s nothing spectacular about them —I muttered.

—That’s the point —Mateo said, not taking his eyes off them.

The music went from bolero to merengue, then an old reggaeton track, and at some point someone put on a vallenato no one danced to. We didn’t either. We stayed on the sofa, talking little, watching a lot.

***

At exactly midnight, a deep-voiced announcer called the show. The lights dimmed, a column of smoke rose from the dance floor, and she appeared.

Her name was Renata. She wore a black lace bodysuit and impossible heels. She danced two songs alone, controlling every millimeter of the audience’s gaze. She wasn’t spectacular because of how she moved her hips, but because of how she chose who to look at and who not to. When she took off the top part of the bodysuit, she did it slowly, as if it were a favor. Her tits were left bare, round and firm, the dark nipples already hard under the spotlights. She squeezed them herself, took them to her mouth, and sucked on them one after the other without taking her eyes off the front row.

She started walking among the tables. She bent over the couples, offered her breasts to the men’s hands and, above all, to the women’s. Some women took part in the game with a smile and let their palms slide over her skin; others pinched her nipples confidently. Others laughed and gently pushed her away. When she passed in front of me, she crouched down, brought one breast to my lips, and whispered, “only if you want.” I didn’t want to. Or I did want to, and that’s why I didn’t.

Behind her came a dancer, Iván, bare-chested and with cream in his hands. He wore very short shorts that hid nothing: a thick cock bulged clearly against the fabric, half hard, swaying with every step. He made the same circuit in reverse: asking permission, rubbing a little cream on the backs of women’s hands, inviting them to run over him. I saw the supposed elementary school teacher, the one with the accountant husband, go red and laugh as she ran her hand over his abdomen, then, without shame, slide lower and squeeze the bulge over his shorts. Her husband applauded like a child at a birthday party.

At one point Iván pulled down his shorts. His cock sprang out, long, thick, the head shining. Renata knelt right there on the dance floor, grabbed it with both hands, and took it all the way into her mouth, never taking her eyes off the audience. She sucked him slowly, pulling him out fully and swallowing him again, leaving a thread of saliva hanging from her chin. Iván grabbed her head and set the rhythm, pushing into her throat with deliberate care, like someone who knows every centimeter of the other person’s body. The entire room fell silent; only the wet sounds of her mouth working his dick could be heard.

Beside us, a young couple had stopped pretending they’d only come for drinks. His hand was under her skirt, moving his fingers with a clear rhythm. Her eyes were closed and her mouth slightly open, and every so often a soft moan slipped out, muffled by his kiss.

I tightened my grip on the glass. I felt my cunt throbbing against the fabric of my dress, like a drum.

—You okay? —Mateo whispered in my ear.

—Yes —I said.

I was. More than okay. I was soaked.

***

When the show ended, Renata and Iván kissed in the center of the floor—she with her mouth still shiny from the semen he’d emptied into her in the last few seconds—and left to applause. The lights came up a little. Some couples stood and, without saying a word, went up a wooden staircase to the second floor.

Mateo looked at me.

—Should we go up?

—Just to watch —I said.

—Just to watch —he repeated.

***

The second floor was another world. A narrow hallway opened onto several doors. One led to a sauna, another to a Turkish bath, others to small rooms with locks. At the end of the hall, a larger room with a red circular sofa in the center and a ring of armchairs around it. A low, almost pink light revealed silhouettes and little else.

There were already two couples on the sofa. One woman was astride a man, moving slowly, with his cock going in and out of her pussy in full view of everyone; you could clearly see the wet dick each time she rose, and the man’s shaved pubis gleaming with fluid. Another couple, beside them, was having oral sex unhurriedly: he was eating her pussy with his face buried between her thighs, and she had his cock in her mouth at the same time, sucking it with a slow, tortured rhythm. In the surrounding armchairs sat six or seven people. All of them had white towels tied around their waists. Some looked at one another; others focused on what was happening in the center, with one hand under the towel, moving slowly.

No one looked at us when we came in. We sat in two chairs at the back, as far to the side as possible. Mateo took my hand.

I had imagined, in the theoretical weeks before, that a place like this would smell bad. I thought of sweat, dampness, something murky. But it smelled like perfume and hot wood, and something else, something sweet I couldn’t identify. Then I realized: it smelled like wet cunt and fresh semen, mixed with vanilla room spray. People breathed hard, but didn’t shout. The moans were low, almost restrained, as if they were part of an intimate conversation we’d been invited to listen to from a distance.

More couples arrived. A random woman, with the body of a school mom, sat astride her husband three meters from me. She lifted her dress to her waist, pulled her panties aside, and impaled herself on his whole cock in one go, without preliminaries. A gasp slipped through her teeth. She started moving slowly, looking at him, pressing her ass against the man’s thighs. I could see his wet cock sliding out of her pussy each time she lifted a little. Then, at one point, she raised her head and looked at me. Not challengingly. Something simpler: to include me. I didn’t look away, and she smiled, still riding her husband, opening her mouth in a silent “oh” just as he drove his hands into her hips.

I felt Mateo breathing harder beside me.

—Look straight ahead —he said.

I looked.

***

In front of us, on the red sofa, a new couple had settled in. He was seated, legs open, his erection pointed toward the ceiling, thick, veins standing out. She was on her knees, taking it into her mouth with a concentration that seemed devoted. She took it all the way in until her nose touched the man’s pubis, and stayed there for a few seconds before slowly pulling it out, leaving the cock covered in saliva and dripping strings. Then she licked it from base to tip, rubbed it over her face, took it back in again.

After a few minutes, another woman came up behind her, stroked the first one’s hair, and whispered something in her ear. They both laughed. The second one settled beside the man and started kissing him, while opening her robe and guiding his hand straight between her legs. I watched the man’s hand disappear into the newly arrived woman’s shaved pussy, two fingers going in and out with a wet sound that reached our sofa. The first woman kept up the rhythm below, not losing the thread, sucking harder now, glancing sideways as her partner fingered another woman.

Then the woman in the robe climbed onto the sofa, placed one knee on each side of the man’s head, and lowered her cunt to his mouth. He grabbed her ass with both hands and started eating her from below, tongue inside, while the other woman kept sucking his cock up top. The two women met halfway and kissed over the man’s body, tongues out, hands squeezing each other’s tits.

What surprised me most wasn’t what was happening, but the naturalness with which it was happening. There was no shame, no urgency, none of that acted-up porn thing I had never liked. It was almost ordinary.

Almost.

Mateo squeezed my hand. I felt the heat rise up the back of my neck. I lowered my eyes and raised them again. I didn’t want to miss anything.

—Do you like watching? —he asked in a very low voice.

I didn’t answer.

—You like it. You’re wet, aren’t you?

I nodded, without looking at him.

His hand left mine and rested on my knee. It climbed slowly, over the fabric of my dress, to the edge of my thigh. It stayed there, without pressing, like a promise.

In front of us, the woman on her knees climbed onto the sofa and settled over the man. She grabbed his cock, put it at the entrance to her pussy, and dropped down hard, all the way. A long, unfiltered moan escaped her. The other one, the one he’d been eating, lay down beside them and started touching herself while watching, two fingers sunk into her own cunt and her thumb circling her clit. A third couple joined the sofa: the woman started sucking the tits of the one riding, the husband pulled out his cock and began jerking off while watching. Then a fourth. I don’t know when I lost count. On the red sofa there was already a tangle of bodies, mouths, and sex, and from everywhere came moans, wet slaps, palms against skin.

Mateo moved his hand higher. He found the edge of my panties beneath the dress and brushed them with his fingertips. I let him. I felt one finger slide over the fabric, there where it was already dark with wetness, and press lightly. I bit my lip so I wouldn’t moan. He didn’t move it any further. He left it there, still, pressing my clit through the fabric while I watched those people fuck two meters away from us. It was worse—or better—than if he had put it inside me.

***

I don’t remember how much time passed. An hour, two, I don’t know. At one point, in the middle of everything, I closed my eyes for a few seconds. Just a few seconds. I wanted to listen. Listen to the low moans, the quickened breathing, the rustle of fabric, the creak of the leather sofa, the unmistakable sound of a cock going in and out of a soaked cunt. When I opened my eyes again, a different couple occupied the center, and around them most of the chairs were filled. On the sofa, a man had just come on the face of a woman who wasn’t his, and the woman was laughing and rubbing the semen over her tits with her hand, while her husband watched from the side, hard cock in hand.

Mateo was still beside me. His gaze was fixed on the sofa and his hand was still between my legs, motionless, pressing into me. It was hotter this way, still, than if he’d been moving it.

—Do you want to go downstairs? —I asked him.

—Do you?

I thought about it. I thought about staying there all night. I thought about going downstairs and dancing with him on the empty floor. I thought about leaving and not making it to the elevator. All three options seemed equally good.

—Let’s go home —I said at last—. You’re going to fuck me as soon as we get in.

He nodded, jaw tight.

Before leaving the room, I looked one last time at the red sofa. The woman who had looked at me at the start was still there, now kissing another woman, with her hand buried in the other woman’s cunt up to the wrist. She lifted her eyes, recognized me, and smiled the way you smile at a neighbor in an elevator. I smiled back.

***

We went down the stairs hand in hand. In the main lounge, the neon lights were still on and the music hadn’t stopped. Three or four couples were dancing as if nothing were happening. The woman in the black dress greeted us with a cordial gesture as we passed.

When we stepped out onto the street, the cool air of El Poblado hit my face. It was almost four in the morning. There was hardly any traffic. The streetlights lit an ordinary street, with ordinary houses, where perhaps other people were asleep, unaware of what was happening just a few blocks away.

We walked silently to the car. Mateo opened my door. I sat down, and before he walked around to his side, I realized I was smiling alone in the dark.

—Would you come back? —he asked once he got in.

—Whenever you want —I said.

And it wasn’t a lie. Something had opened that night. A curiosity that wasn’t there when we walked in. The idea of watching, of being part of it and not being part of it at the same time, had turned me on more than any movie, any game, anything we’d tried in bed up to that point.

We hadn’t touched anyone. No one had touched us. And yet, I felt like something had changed between the two of us. A new complicity. A shared secret no one else in the world would understand in quite the same way.

On the way back, Mateo put a hand on my thigh, over the dress. This time he did move it. He slid it up to the edge of my panties, pushed the fabric aside, and slipped two fingers in. I was so wet they went in without resistance. I swallowed them with a moan, gripping the seat belt as he drove with the other hand and headlights swept across the windshield. He drove them in to the knuckles and pulled them out shining, and with his thumb he kept finding my clit every so often, without pause. He made me come like that, two traffic lights from home, my mouth open against the window and my legs trembling.

—I’m not done with you yet —he said, pulling out his soaked fingers and putting them in his mouth without looking at me.

We got home. We didn’t turn on the lights. The bed was three steps away and we never made it there. He shoved me against the door as soon as he closed it, yanked my dress up to my tits in one pull, and literally tore off my panties with a snap of ripping fabric. He turned me around, made me press my palms against the door, and kicked my legs apart with one soft nudge. I heard him unzip his pants, the sound of his belt hitting the floor, and then the head of his cock against the slit of my cunt, sliding, searching for the entrance.

He drove it into me with one sharp thrust, all the way. I screamed against the door. I was so soaked that the cock went in all the way on the first stroke, and he stayed there for a few seconds, his pubis pressed to my ass, breathing into the back of my neck.

—Is this how you wanted it? —he said, his mouth against my ear—. Like that, like the ones we were watching?

—Yes —I said, and that was all I could say.

He started fucking me hard, with those thrusts that made my forehead bang against the wood. Every time he drove it all the way in, a moan slipped out of my throat. He grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and licked my ear while he kept fucking me without mercy. With his other hand he found one of my tits under the dress and squeezed my nipple between his fingers until I screamed.

—Tell me what you saw —he panted against my neck—. Tell me what you liked.

—The woman on the sofa —I said, between thrusts—. The one who sucked two cocks at once. And the other one, the one in the robe, sitting on her face.

—Were you picturing yourself there?

—Yes.

—How?

—With my mouth full. With you watching me.

He groaned slowly and drove it even deeper into me. He pulled his cock out, turned me around, lifted me up, and carried me the three steps to the bed. He threw me onto my back, pulled my dress over my head, and spread my legs. He knelt between them and buried his face in my cunt. His tongue went in where his cock had been, sucking, licking, and I arched and grabbed his head with both hands. He ate me slowly at first, drawing circles around my clit with the tip of his tongue, and then hungrily, slipping two fingers into me while he sucked. I came in his mouth in less than a minute, squeezing his head with my thighs, biting the back of my hand so I wouldn’t wake the neighbor.

Still trembling, I turned over and got on all fours. I showed him my ass, my cunt open, shiny, soaked with my own cum and his saliva.

—Again —I asked—. Like one of them.

He climbed onto the bed and fucked me from behind, gripping my hips. He started slowly, savoring every centimeter, then picked up the pace until the slapping of his thighs against my ass filled the room. He pulled out all the way and slammed back in, and I pushed my ass against his stomach, chasing him, asking for more. He shoved a thumb into my ass while he kept fucking my cunt, and I nearly came again from the mix of shock and pleasure.

—Inside? —he asked, voice ragged.

—Inside —I said.

He came with a long growl, buried to the hilt, and I felt the hot lashes of semen inside me, one after another, while he held my hips still against his. He collapsed over my back, breathing hard, his cock still inside me, throbbing.

Afterward we stayed like that for a while, motionless, with the semen slowly leaking down the insides of my thighs onto the sheet. He kissed the back of my neck. I smiled into the pillow.

We would go back. We both knew it. And next time, maybe, we wouldn’t just watch.

But that, that’s another story.