A Condo with Two Views (11 page)

There’s a saying that there’s no such
thing as a bad orgasm, which may be true. But without a doubt,
there are some orgasms that are more intense and more electrifying
than others. I came so hard, three times in a row that I almost
fainted from pleasure.

Simply put, it was the most incredible sex
of my life.

Chapter 6.
Peppermint Club

Jack’s View:

Chloe and I settled in quite nicely over the
last few months. When we got the condo fully furnished, we turned
our attention toward buying some good art. Deciding on a couple of
smart oil paintings and some good photography would claim our
unique footprint on our condo. We picked up a sinister looking
portrait painted by Anthony Hopkins, the famous actor. Few people
know how skilled he is as a painter. We also purchased a photo as
part of the ‘China’ series by Edward Burtynsky. Our place was
looking good. Three quarters of the units in our building were now
completed and sold or rented, and it seemed that every week someone
new was moving in.

I was promoted to junior partner in our
marketing consultancy firm, and we were doing well. We’d gone from
65 staff to 85 since I’d started there a year earlier. I helped
land a few accounts myself, plus of course, there was the work that
I did on the side for Benito and his holding company, Koobecaf
Homes. Things were equally good for Chloe at the law firm where she
worked. In a short time she had proven herself as one of the most
reliable and efficient paralegal assistants.

Friends called when Pearl Jam rolled
through town, and with the concert on a Saturday night, we were
definitely in. Eight of us were going, but we bought two sets of
four tickets, knowing eight in a row would kill any chance at good
seats. The show was at the Shoreline Amphitheatre, and it rocked.
Eddie and the boys delivered in spades.

Following the show, we agreed to go for
drinks. Anything within a walkabout distance was already packed
with overflow from the concert. Someone suggested we go to the
Peppermint Club. Whereas at one time strip clubs were the exclusive
domain of men, they were increasingly frequented by men and women,
especially couples. Even the college kids were getting in on the
action. The stigma of these clubs being sleazy and pervy was fading
. ‘Sure, why not?’ we all agreed.

We all paid the cover charge, and with a
little extra, they set us up at a good table. There was a constant
parade of beautiful women, both up on the stage and at our table.
We were continually propositioned for private dances in the VIP
room. To my pleasant surprise, some of our friends selected a girl
of their choosing, and took her up on the offer. Chloe and I played
it cool, soaking in the atmosphere – but refraining from any
private dances. I was drinking whiskey sours, and she was drinking
gin and tonics. It was a fun vibe.

Two hours later, Chloe hastily nudged me
with her elbow, “Look, look, look,” she said, “do you recognize
her?”

Across the club I spotted a familiar face
indeed. It was a girl we’d seen in our building. She was
unmistakable. Exceptionally pretty and heavily tattooed and
pierced. We had both commented on her when we saw her in and around
the lobby. She looked like one of those girls from the ‘Suicide
Girls’ website. So, she was a stripper. Interesting. She was
standing at the mouth of the stairs that led to the main
stage.

Just then we heard the cheesy announcer’s
voice come over the PA system: “Please….put your hands together for
the lovely and irreplaceable Sexi Lexi”

Lexi danced three songs up on the main
stage, progressively removing more and more
clothin
g during her
routine. She had an array of artistically colorful tattoos which
adorned her sexy figure.
This chick is exotic, and fuck is she hot!
Her arms and shoulders were
done, as well as her thighs and calves. Both of her nipples were
pierced with miniature barbells.

Chloe hit me with the idea before it even
crossed my mind, “Would you like to get her for a VIP dance,
together?”

M
ost of our friends left early, with those of us remaining
having already moved to a smaller table. Lexi busily wandered
around the club, making herself noticed and signaling her
willingness and availability for private dances. Meanwhile, Chloe
and I politely turned away all the other hopeful dancers who
approached us. We had our sights set on the girl who lived in our
building. Finally, when she was close enough to see us, I waved her
over.

“
Well, hello, hello…” she said, maneuvering
around another patron to get to us, “and how are both of you?” But
then she paused, stopping in her tracks. “Hey, do I know you two?”
she asked with a much more serious tone of voice.

“
Oh no, we don’t come into the club that
often, do we?” I replied, jokingly. I didn’t want to outright lie
to her, but I didn’t want to tell her we lived in the same building
in case that scared her off.

Sexi Lexi was a pro. She paid Chloe some
very nice compliments, and then asked permission from Chloe, to sit
on my lap. We made small talk for a few minutes, ordered another
round of drinks when the waitress checked in on us, and then Lexi
made her move to close the sale.

“
So, I assume you called me over here for a
reason. Perhaps the three of us should venture into one of the VIP
rooms, and you can see how my ink moves along with
music?”

Lexi led the way, holding Chloe’s hand and
tugging her along, ever so gently. Once back there, our eyes
adjusting to the darkness, Lexi whispered in my ear in order to ask
which one of us should get the primary attention. I motioned toward
Chloe, as it was sexier for me to see the two girls together than
get a personal dance myself.

At the onset of the next song, ‘Under the
Bridge’ by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Lexi moved into position
straddling Chloe’s lap and began to dance for my wife. I was close
enough to smell the intermingling of their perfumes. Lexi had all
the moves nailed to perfection. A lovely mix of fluid and
percussive dancing that went from smooth sinuous flowing one
minute, to staccato the next. Her body was shapely and toned, and
she would bring her nipples to within touching distance of Chloe’s
face, only to pull back. All the while, Lexi stroked Chloe’s upper
arms.

Chloe settled into position nicely with a
lovely soft smile on her face. Occasionally, she glanced toward me,
but generally she respected Lexi’s performance by giving the
stripper her undivided attention. Lexi’s blonde hair splashed onto
Chloe’s face, and at one point, she planted a series of soft
butterfly kisses on my wife’s neck and shoulder. It was erotic, and
enjoyable to watch. Most of the time, Chloe had her hands on Lexi’s
waist and outer thighs.

We had agreed to three songs for a hundred
bucks. As the third song was winding down, Lexi focused her
attention on me.

“Three more songs with you in the driver’s
seat, handsome?”

“
No thanks, not tonight,” I answered, “but
I have another idea, if you’re interested.” First, I had to confess
to Lexi that we lived in the same condo building, which I
did.

“
I knew it!” she said
before covering her face with her hands.
She was slightly self-conscious about the whole thing, but I
reassured her by reminding her that Chloe and I were here
ourselves, and we are the ones paying! If anything, we had as much
to be embarrassed about as Lexi did. Then I told her that every
husband wished his wife could dance like a stripper; and would she
be willing to teach Chloe a few of the dance moves we had just
witnessed?

Chloe played along brilliantly
and expressed her enthusiasm
and desire.

As Lexi walked us back to our table, I
outlined the details. I suggested one lesson per week for five
weeks in our home or Lexi’s, whichever was more convenient. Each
lesson could last an hour; and I offered Lexi $1,000 total for the
five sessions. She thought about it for a moment and nodded her
agreement in principle. Strippers dance for money, so this was
really just an extension of that. The girls exchanged email
addresses, with intentions to work out the timing details. I left a
very generous tip for the VIP session, to sweeten the
deal.

In the back of the taxi Chloe moved in
close.

Chloe’s View:

I didn’t have the heart to tell Jack we
were nowhere near completed decorating the condo, but he didn’t
need to hear that. Most men don’t really understand the difference
between furniture and furnishings. They think once the sofa and the
coffee table is in place, the living room is all set. I was still
working on those finishing touches. I wanted to put my unique stamp
on o
ur condo. I knew
Jack loved art. I do too, so I decided to turn his attention to
buying some eye candy for the walls.

Our rule for buying art is that we both
have to love the piece. If either one of us has reservations, we
don’t buy it. I must admit, we had similar taste in art. I thought
that was a good sign, we were in synch; our marriage would be
harmonious. Jack was the first to discover Anthony Hopkin’s
paintings; and when I saw the intensity of the work, I was stopped
in my tracks. His art was absolutely mesmerizing and the rich, deep
colors would be dramatic against our neutral palate. One painting
would take our space from pleasing to spectacular.

I remember the day we took delivery of the
hand-woven wool rug we picked out at Macy’s. It was stunning, and
looked even better in our condo than it did in the store. It was a
little out of our price range, but the workmanship was so
incredible, and the pattern so amazing, we had to have it. After it
arrived, I was running the vacuum when I felt Jack’s arms wrap
around me from behind. His arms were tenderly feeling about my
waist and pulling me back toward his chest. He removed my hand from
the vacuum while shutting it off. He kissed me on that spot below
my ear while I rested my upper torso on him, enjoying his strong
arms holding me secure. Jack moved his hands down toward my jeans
zipper, removing them and sliding them down my thighs. He scooped
me up and placed me on my back looking up at him standing over
me.

“
Don’t move baby.
I wanted to do this as soon as we picked this rug
out,” he said.

I watched my husband remove his t-shirt
first, throwing it aside. Then, off with his jeans and socks. He
stood there just looking at me. Sexy as hell with tight black
Calvin Klein briefs, the bulge telling me he wanted the pet on the
new rug. Straddling me, he pulled my t-shirt up revealing the lower
half of my breasts. Braless, my nipples pushed through the fabric.
Jack teased my nipples, running his fingers back and forth over
their tips. I arched my back off of the floor in search of needed
friction.
Fuck.
He moved
his body over mine as I instinctively spread my legs welcoming his
growing cock against my vagina.
Oh, rub me please
. He bit my nipples through the fabric then kissed
the underside of both breasts before moving his lips down to my
waist and lower still. Yanking down my thong with his teeth, he
sniffed me gingerly while his hand grasped it and threw it aside.
Our rug was decorated with our clothes and almost naked bodies.
Thrusting my hips up to Jack, he smiled. He knew what I
wanted.
What
I needed
. With his
skilled tongue, he licked and suckled my clit. He spread my lips
open with his thumbs, massaging me while his mouth devoured my
pussy. I felt my juices literally trickling down. Just hearing him
licking and sucking me sent me over the edge. Jack smirked at me
when between orgasms, I reached for my discarded jeans, lifted my
hips off the rug, so I could slide them underneath my sopping wet
cunt. I don’t mind pussy juice on my designer jeans, but not on my
brand new designer rug!

After my second orgasm, Jack motioned me
on top of him. He moved my t-shirt up over my tits and pulled and
twisted my nipples as I gently massaged his cock with my soft
soaking pussy. It didn’t take long for him to orgasm while his
hands squeezed my hips bringing me up and down his shaft, moving me
at a pace meant for his pleasure. While I fucked my husband on our
new rug, my knees received their first rug burn. It was so worth
it.

Christening our apartment was not our only
pleasure. Jack and I are big music fans, and in one week alone, we
went to see Alicia Keys doing a solo concert mid-week, and then
Pearl Jam on the weekend. It was my second time seeing the band,
and a gang of friends were going, ensuring a great night. We had
drinks beforehand, and some friends smoked some weed. Afterward,
it’s no surprise that more drinks were in order. When someone
suggested a strip club, I thought they were kidding at first.
Everyone agreed, and before I knew it, we were hailing down
cabs.

As strange as this might sound, I was a
bit nervous going in there. What if I see someone I know from work?
Would the place be filled with dirty old men drooling over the
women? I had only been to a strip club on two other occasions, and
both of those times, I was pleasantly surprised, but still I had
some trepidation. I’m glad I didn’t smoke a joint earlier; I needed
to be in the right frame of mind. Most comforting of all, I had
Jack as my protector. I always felt secure with my husband by my
side.