1. Getting caught


    Date: 11/11/2014, Categories: Group Sex, Voyeur, Author: mazoola, Rating: 100, Source: xHamster

    said, "I know something about this room you don't." With that, she pulled back a section of the black satin[-ish] d****s lining the room to reveal an unused and largely forgotten doorway to something: Storage? Fire exit? One of the sets where they used to film Rosebud brand loops and features? Even better, tucked away inside this hidden alcove was a surprisingly large and comfortable arm chair. "See?" she said. "It'll be our little secret. I'm so fucking horny I can't stand it -- eat me out now before the club closes, then we'll go back to your place and I'll fuck your brains out." With that, she pulled off her tap pants and sat in the chair, one leg dangling over each arm. What can I say? It was an offer I couldn't refuse. ---which doesn't mean I wasn't still a little worried about getting caught. At various times in its life, the Cinema was essentially a brothel: If you tipped the dancer on stage a sawbuck, she'd sit on the edge of the stage, lie back,. and spread her legs so you could go down on her. Meanwhile, other dancers waiting their turn circulated through the audience, selling lap dances: for $20 more, she'd pull the crotch of her panties to one side and upgrade the dance to a fuck. But when Diane Feinstein was elected mayor, things changed. The cops started busting strip clubs (the Mitchell b*****rs were arrested more than 100 times, even though the DA refused to press charges); first nude and then topless lap dances were banned; and the craziness went away -- and ...
    stayed away through the next several mayors. Even though it was only moments before the dawn of a new era of lewdness and debauchery (the newly elected mayor, Willie Brown, Jr., was a lawyer who had previously represented Sam Conti, the king of San Francisco stripclubs), we had no idea what was coming -- and, at the time, it was still a reasonably serious offense against club protocol for a customer to be caught face-deep in an entertainer. So you can understand my nervousness when, just as Sara started moaning in earnest, grinding her trimmed snatch against my mouth, a pair of dancers led their clients into the room for a last couple of lap dances before the lights came up. Could they really *not* hear Sara as she came and came on my face? Would we be caught? Actually, no: We *didn't* get caught. We *did* have to wait until after the club closed so no one would see us appear from behind the d****s -- which meant the surly Middle-Eastern guy who manned the front counter yelled at me when I tried to slip past him -- and I had to meet Sara a couple of blocks away so the club wouldn't see her leave with a customer, but if anyone heard anything suspicious or smelled Sara on my face, she kept it to herself. And Sara kept her promise: Five minutes after we walked through the front door, I was naked, she was naked, I was sitting in one of my dining room chairs, and she was riding my cock for all she was worth. Afterwards, once we'd had a chance to catch our breath, we did it again ...
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