Swinging in Amsterdam (At the Swingers' Club, #1) by Polly J Adams
Authors: Polly J Adams
Tags: FF, Lesbian, mfm, bisexual, Exhibitionism, group sex, voyeurism, public sex, anonymous sex, gangbang, stranger sex, hot wife, hotwife, swinging, orgies, swingers, hotwives, hot wives
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Swinging in Amsterdam
F rom the hotel window Selena could see through a canopy of leafy trees to the canal. Long, narrow houseboats lined the far side, their roofs and gunwales deep with potted plants. A small boat piled high with cardboard boxes chugged past. Beyond, there was a bar advertising Amstel, Heineken and Jupiter beers, with tables outside and more across the uneven street by the canal. Most of the tables were occupied, a mix of tourists and locals stopping for a beer on their way home from work.
Selena stood with her face pressed up against the cold glass, her arms held high, her hands clutching the window frame. She wore a black corset, her breasts pushed up, spilling out, cupped in Martin’s hands, his fingers and thumbs flicking and pinching at the hard nipples.
She pushed back against him and felt his hard dick sliding slowly into her once again. The end pressed against the front wall of her vagina, sending stabs of pleasure through her belly. She tipped her head back, grinding her cropped hair against his shoulder, feeling the scrape of stubble against her cheek.
“Fuck me,” she gasped. “Fuck me hard.”
One hand stole down across the ribbed fabric of her corset to cup her shaved smooth pussy, guiding and controlling her as he thrust deep.
That pressure... the way his hand contained her like that... the way his fingers squeezed her pussy, making her feel tighter... the way the heel of his hand ground and rolled against her, sliding that fleshy hood across her clit...
Outside...
She wondered what they could see, if they could see anything at all. Their room was on the third floor – so high up that passersby would only see reflections, and at best just the shape of someone standing here. Or would they be able to see more? Would they make out her features, her short auburn hair and angular cheekbones? Would they see that there was not one figure here, but two? Would they see his hand on her left breast, see the rhythmic movement of her body as he thrust into her, see the opening of her mouth in another gasp as his other hand adjusted and a finger slid up the wet slit of her sex, parting her lips, finding the hard nub of her clit?
She closed her eyes, trying to picture the view from outside, savoring the thrill of watching and being watched, of being so risky and public.
Just then, he thrust harder, lifting her to her toes, focusing all her senses on his dick inside her and that finger as it circled her clit.
She felt a pulsing, deep inside, a sudden throb as Martin held himself deep. Another throb and a deep grinding thrust and then wet heat as he came deep inside her.
That did it for her, the wetness and the shifting sensations as he came and then started to soften and all the time that finger relentlessly circled, circled, circled.
She gave a long, drawn out groan and then felt everything tighten, a protracted pulsing of the muscles in her pussy, an intense wave of pleasure spreading through her belly. She slumped forward against the glass, face and breasts squashed against its coldness. Her legs had gone weak, threatening to give way beneath her.
Thank goodness for those strong arms around her, catching and supporting her.
She twisted in Martin’s embrace and his dick abruptly flopped out of her, leaving her wet and feeling intensely empty of him. She tucked herself into those arms, that body, and allowed him to guide her across to the bed, lower her, lift her legs up so she could lie and he could tuck in behind her, those arms still looped around her, the two of them wet, tangled, spent.
§
“So what haven’t we done?”
That had become a standard line on this mad tour of Europe’s great cities. Rome, Prague, Berlin and now what remained of the afternoon and then one more night in Amsterdam before heading up to Centraal Station for their train to Paris. So what haven’t we done?
They’d been to Museumsplein for the Van Gogh Museum and the Rijksmuseum. They’d idled through
F rom the hotel window Selena could see through a canopy of leafy trees to the canal. Long, narrow houseboats lined the far side, their roofs and gunwales deep with potted plants. A small boat piled high with cardboard boxes chugged past. Beyond, there was a bar advertising Amstel, Heineken and Jupiter beers, with tables outside and more across the uneven street by the canal. Most of the tables were occupied, a mix of tourists and locals stopping for a beer on their way home from work.
Selena stood with her face pressed up against the cold glass, her arms held high, her hands clutching the window frame. She wore a black corset, her breasts pushed up, spilling out, cupped in Martin’s hands, his fingers and thumbs flicking and pinching at the hard nipples.
She pushed back against him and felt his hard dick sliding slowly into her once again. The end pressed against the front wall of her vagina, sending stabs of pleasure through her belly. She tipped her head back, grinding her cropped hair against his shoulder, feeling the scrape of stubble against her cheek.
“Fuck me,” she gasped. “Fuck me hard.”
One hand stole down across the ribbed fabric of her corset to cup her shaved smooth pussy, guiding and controlling her as he thrust deep.
That pressure... the way his hand contained her like that... the way his fingers squeezed her pussy, making her feel tighter... the way the heel of his hand ground and rolled against her, sliding that fleshy hood across her clit...
Outside...
She wondered what they could see, if they could see anything at all. Their room was on the third floor – so high up that passersby would only see reflections, and at best just the shape of someone standing here. Or would they be able to see more? Would they make out her features, her short auburn hair and angular cheekbones? Would they see that there was not one figure here, but two? Would they see his hand on her left breast, see the rhythmic movement of her body as he thrust into her, see the opening of her mouth in another gasp as his other hand adjusted and a finger slid up the wet slit of her sex, parting her lips, finding the hard nub of her clit?
She closed her eyes, trying to picture the view from outside, savoring the thrill of watching and being watched, of being so risky and public.
Just then, he thrust harder, lifting her to her toes, focusing all her senses on his dick inside her and that finger as it circled her clit.
She felt a pulsing, deep inside, a sudden throb as Martin held himself deep. Another throb and a deep grinding thrust and then wet heat as he came deep inside her.
That did it for her, the wetness and the shifting sensations as he came and then started to soften and all the time that finger relentlessly circled, circled, circled.
She gave a long, drawn out groan and then felt everything tighten, a protracted pulsing of the muscles in her pussy, an intense wave of pleasure spreading through her belly. She slumped forward against the glass, face and breasts squashed against its coldness. Her legs had gone weak, threatening to give way beneath her.
Thank goodness for those strong arms around her, catching and supporting her.
She twisted in Martin’s embrace and his dick abruptly flopped out of her, leaving her wet and feeling intensely empty of him. She tucked herself into those arms, that body, and allowed him to guide her across to the bed, lower her, lift her legs up so she could lie and he could tuck in behind her, those arms still looped around her, the two of them wet, tangled, spent.
§
“So what haven’t we done?”
That had become a standard line on this mad tour of Europe’s great cities. Rome, Prague, Berlin and now what remained of the afternoon and then one more night in Amsterdam before heading up to Centraal Station for their train to Paris. So what haven’t we done?
They’d been to Museumsplein for the Van Gogh Museum and the Rijksmuseum. They’d idled through
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