I got there early so I had my pick of colors – I chose lime green for the night, put on the big earrings and posed for my picture. Earrings made sense because they didn’t interfere with anything anyone might do, and they were clearly visible. My chosen color meant anyone who gave me a green bracelet had bought the right to cum in me. How they wanted to do it, where they wanted to pump their semen, was completely their choice, and as long as they didn’t interfere with each other, there was no rule against sharing. For the night, I had given blank permission to be used in this way. Very strict Club rules and burly security prevented abuse – though the rules for women with black earrings were looser regarding rougher treatment. For a ‘kaleidoscope girl’ no bruising was a golden rule, though that didn’t mean things couldn’t get a little rough. The color scheme was important. If a guy had your color, it means they’d specifically picked you from the night’s catalog. There was something both perverse and flattering about it – probably what made the Kaleidoscope Club so appealing to both sides. In the morning each woman would trade her bracelets in for a proportional share of the house earnings. Even though the women had a buy-in cost for the night, none ever left the club with less money than she came with.
Ostensibly we were allowed to freshen up whenever we wanted between visitors – from just a bathroom break to a full shower, though in my personal experience nobody cared how messy I was, and some actually preferred fucking me ‘well used’. The only rule for us women It was that if a guy had our color, his cum belonged in us. If we reached our limit, we could alert the front, but we were still obligated to finish those who had already bought the right. I’d gotten close last month – mostly because a pair of unnaturally coordinated guys kept me cumming almost constantly for about half an hour partway through the night before unloading in my pussy and ass almost simultaneously, but I’ve never yet had to call it quits before the night was over.
Club Orgy 1
Angela R.: By the time the “DJ” broke into the music to explain to the whole club the nature of the subliminal music, the hypnotic lights, the pheromones in the fog machines, none of us on the floor were really listening anymore. We’d all fallen victim to Club Orgy, a bizarre 21st century quasi-anarchist group hitting nightclubs randomly across the country, turning a dance-floor full of otherwise responsible adults into an undulating mass of carelessly fucking bodies. I didn’t know who was fucking me at any given moment. I’m sure none of the guys knew who they were cumming in either. Couples disintegrated as they turned towards the next available cock or pussy. There wasn’t a soft dick or dry hole anywhere. The sounds of sex – cries, grunts, moans, screams, seemed to be part of the music, and none of us knew how to stop – none of us even tried. Like every other attack on record, we all woke up in naked, sweaty piles, cum leaking out of every pussy, not knowing what had happened – only that we’d had the wildest night of our lives.
Club Orgy 2
Nell F.: It had taken me weeks to track down Club Orgy, but I found them on the dark web. I’d fallen victim to one of their “actions” early in the summer, and had been outraged, but had also never cum so hard or so much in my life. I had never been so used, but also never so open, so care free.
I managed to spy on their digital schedule and planning board, and was going to expose them on the eve of their next attack. I’d come prepared; ear plugs, polarized sunglasses, cops on speed dial.
But it had been a trap, set just for me. The club they were ‘hitting’ had actually been closed two weeks before, but they staged the scene, anyway and my ‘protections’ were useless. The information I’d gathered about how to keep myself from falling to the hypnotic/psychedelic assault had been false, cleverly planted by them to trap nosy people like me. This time, at this honey-trap event, I was the only person to be affected. Everyone else was part of the organization, and there were more of them than I had realized. And every one – every single one, male and female, sometimes two or even three at a time – had a turn with me. I came more times than I can count, and did more deprived things than I can remember.
When I woke up the next morning, with cum and sweat dried all over me, the “club” was completely deserted. On top of the crumpled pile of my clothes was a warning not to threaten Club Orgy again, and a job application for “CO, LLC”.
Categories: Cassie Andra, Erotic Fiction, The Wrong Alphabet
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