Swipe the keycard at Hotel Bij de Brug. Beep echoes in the quiet corridor. Door swings open. Canal sparkles outside, romantic glow. Drag suitcase inside. Wheels rumble on carpet. Harold drops his bag, pulls me close. ‘Perfect stopover spot.’ Dreams haunt me—hands everywhere, men, maybe a woman. Legs clench at the thought.
Laure suggested Amsterdam for fantasies. Harold agrees, suggests inviting Laure and Pierre. Group fun. Dinner in the city. Plates clink. Wine flows. Stroll after. Cobblestones click under heels. Neon buzzes brighter. Red lights pulse. Stop at club facade. Dutch text: ‘Become actor for evening. Interactive show. Adults only.’ Eyes lock with Harold. He kisses me. ‘If you want.’ Pierre translates. Laure hesitates. We enter anyway.
The Layover
Plush carpets muffle steps. Dim blue light. Seats fill with couples, some solos. Posters of lingerie everywhere. Hostess guides us. Spotlight hunts. Picks a shy 22-year-old girl. She chooses tall muscled guy from screen. Lights out. Back on: her in lace, trembling. Him naked, cock half-hard, thick.
Public shouts: ‘Stroke him!’ She yanks boxer off. Kneels. Hands wrap shaft, pumps slow. Screen zooms. Veins bulge. ‘Suck it!’ Lips stretch over head. Deep sucks, hand twists foreskin. Slurps echo. Pub groans. ‘Don’t cum yet! Finger her!’ Boxer off. Legs spread. Pussy lips part, pink wet. Dildo appears—20cm ivory. Plunges in deep. Then finger in ass. She moans.
He laps clit, twists dildo in her hole. Ass gapes. Public: ‘Fuck her ass!’ She ejects toy, guides his cock. Pushes down. Slow sit. Full embed. Bounces hard. He flips her. Pounds doggy. Balls slap pussy. She cums screaming. He pulls out, sprays thick ropes on her bush. Lights dim. Applause. Hands wander in dark.
Hostess: ‘Now two couples!’ Heart races. I grab Harold, rush stage. Laure protests. Pierre drags her. Cheers erupt. Lights off three minutes. Moans fill air—audience relieves tension. Lights up: me in red lace, tits molded perfect. Laure in lilac, sleek black skin, tiny tits perky.
The Transit
Saturday twist: ‘Swap partners!’ Me with Pierre. Laure with Harold. Kneel. Pull Pierre’s boxer. Cock springs—straight, rigid. Lips engulf. Push foreskin, swallow deep. Pierre groans. Laure stares at Harold’s monster—mandarin head, veiny shaft. Hostess forces it in her mouth. She sucks hungry.
Lay Laure down. Harold kisses, strips. Cock slides pussy lips. Thrusts in. Screen shows balls smack. She spreads wide: ‘They watch you fuck me!’ He pounds. Turns her. Ass up. Virgin hole. Pushes in slow. She howls. Full hilt. Machine fucks her shitter. Pierre eats me, tongue flicks clit. Then I mount. His steel rod hammers cervix.
Carole cums first? No—Pierre erupts in me. Hot jets fill. Drip out. Harold nears. I finger his ass. He blasts deep in Laure’s guts. Cum floods her gape. Lights off. Hugs. Eyes meet Pierre’s, Harold’s Laure’s. More tonight.
Morning. Keycard beeps return. Suitcase zips. Canal fades. Plane waits. Pussy aches, ass memories burn. Transit fling. Anonymous heat. Till next stop.