Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
My eyes focus on the screen, and the man in particular. I watch how he moves, how when his hips flex his shaft disappears into the woman. She moans, arching her back in pleasure. Multi-tasking is a must when having sex. He rests on his elbow with his other hand between their bodies, while his mouth sucks on her nipple and his hips thrust into her.
“Jesus, sex is an Olympic sport.”
I used to think watching movies was wrong and distasteful, but after visiting Society X, I see things differently. The people, the ones having sex and watching, want this. They crave the looks, the touching, the sounds coming from their partner.
My dick throbs and I finally grip the shaft, imagining I’m the guy on the screen, pushing the woman into the mattress, then into the headboard, and fucking her into oblivion.
And then they stop.
Fucking breather.
My hand doesn’t. It moves up and down my shaft, slowly. I should’ve marked my time to see how long I can last. Maybe this is the trick. Jack off so many times I can last five minutes.
The woman gets on top but she’s the other way with her ass facing him. The man grins, sticks one hand behind his head, and his thumb goes right into her . . .
“Holy shit,” I say as I pump my hand faster. “In her ass and she likes it.” She bounces on his dick and thumb, holding her tits so they’re not whacking her.
My hips buck and something hot lands on my stomach. I look down and groan, but my erection isn’t gone.
I skip to the next video, fast forward through the foreplay, and watch the action until I blow my next load. And then another.
I’m spent.
Exhausted.
And ready to put my newly found confidence to the test when Scotlyn texts and says she’s been called into work.
Deflated.
That’s how I feel. I was finally going to make my move in the darkened theater, because doing so with the lights on and seeing her rejection would destroy me.
I’m about to head to bed, when my phone chimes again. It’s my team.
Meet us at Society X.
I tell them yes because Scotlyn is there, and if anything, I can chill at the bar with her until she gets off, and then maybe I can try and kiss her in the parking lot.
I remember the day my mom tried to boost my self-esteem and tell me women dig computer nerds. What she didn’t mention was women dig computer nerds because they think we’re rolling in cash. Like, we can hack accounts and just line our pockets with unsuspecting users who insist on making their pin code 1234.
The nerd brigade is back at Society X. It’s a Saturday night and my jollies are a result of watching women (and some men) take their clothes off. Only this time, it’s live action. I’m tempted to head to the bar to see Scotlyn, but I’m determined to make it through a show. My team, these horny-ass motherfuckers, bounce in their seats with their tongues wagging, as if the woman on stage is going to give them the time of day without them paying for her services. They don’t understand she’s a professional, and something tells me there isn’t a barter system when it comes to sticking your disk into her hard drive.
Jokes for days.
I’m paying attention, though, and can appreciate the athletic ability the dancers have. The pole work looks extremely daunting, and their flexibility is impressive. I intend to ask Scotlyn later how much practice goes into a performance. Do the dancers have a choreographer? Does Society X pay for one?
How much of their tips do the performers keep?
All these questions about the business side of things run through my mind instead of focusing on the ample breasts, with the barely covered nipple shaking in front of me.
“Motorboat those tits!” someone yells. I laugh it off because I have no fucking clue what the hell motorboating even means. I’m a gentleman though, and keep my hands to myself as she slaps my face with her boobs.
“Yay,” one of my coworker’s yells.
“Buy a lap dance from her.”
“Take her to the Viewing Room.”
“Let her fuck your brains out.”
I stay there, seated in place, while my head moves back and forth from the motion, and ignore my team members. I will not buy a lap dance from her nor will I take her to the Viewing Room. When I got my tour, Christy took me into the Viewing Room where I witnessed a man tied to a chair, watching who I suspect was his wife getting fucked from behind by some other dude. I googled that when I got home and found the proper name for this kink and quickly deduced it’s not for me.
The watching part, I’m okay with. I just can’t imagine my wife or girlfriend having sex with another man in front of me.