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Liberator’s Lusty Lit Contest awards the winner with a $250 gift card to Vote for the contests by clicking the heart at the end of the post. To find out more, click here.



Warning: Waves of pleasure included!



Black lights pulsed in time to the throbbing music, bathing the crowd of gyrating bodies in an otherworldly purple glow. The setting could have been any upscale nightclub, except that everyone present, from DJ to bartenders, and all the revelers packed onto the dance floor, was clad only in “costumes” of black-light reactive body paint.


“I’m not sure this was a good idea,” even with my lips right next to my husband’s ear, I had to practically shout to be heard over the music.


“Relax,” he grabbed my waist, pulling me hard against his side, and nibbled my ear.  “We’re here to have fun, remember?”


I nodded, enjoying the sensation of my nipple brushing against his chest hair, even as I trembled at the thought of going onto that dance floor.


“Well, it were going to do this, I’m going to need a drink.” I tilted my head toward the bar. We’d decided to make our first visit to an on-premise sex club when they were having a nude masquerade. Though I was all-too aware of my own nakedness, the dancers’ faces and bodies were nearly indistinguishable in a space mostly lit by black light. The effect of the body paint was stunning.  Whorls, stripes, tribal designs and simulated clothing, all blended into a neon kaleidoscope that was somehow both sophisticated and primal in its beauty.


At the bar, I allowed myself exactly one rum and Coke to bolster my courage while I watched the dancers twirl, gyrate and grind to the music’s deep, resonant beat. My palms were clammy, my face so hot I was sure my red cheeks must be visible for anyone to see, cleverly-painted mask or no. But the music was working its way into my blood, and soon I found myself swaying to it right there at the bar.


“Shall we dance?” my husband asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. I nodded, and allowed him to lead me onto the dance floor. I forgot my nerves and embarrassment as we bumped and ground, shook and shimmied, adding our painstakingly applied, calavera-inspired designs to the colorful scene.


It was hard to forget my nakedness, though. Dancing with my buttocks pressed to my husband’s groin, I felt his erection rising against me. My vagina warmed in answer, and I turned, pressing my now-hard nipples against his chest. I lifted my face, and his lips met mine in a kiss that started out slow and sweet, but quickly became more ardent as he darted his tongue into my mouth. I eagerly returned his kiss, gently sucking on his large, warm tongue. Pulled close against his, my body grew hotter, and suddenly I didn’t want to be among all the other club guests anymore.


I pulled back from the kiss with a small gasp. “Let’s go somewhere more private,” I said.


Wordlessly, he pulled me off the dance floor, toward the shadowed corner we’d been told held the playrooms. We passed a couple of themed rooms, including a dungeon. The smack of leather on skin, a sharp little cry, and a soft moan drifted from that room as we went by it.   Interesting, but not quite the right thing.


“There,” I tugged my husband into a room decorated all in red and black. “You sit here,” I lightly shoved him onto the Liberator Black Label Esse Stage and Hipster combo, and then stood back for a moment to admire the way the shapes worked together to support his hips and back, while prominently displaying his hard cock as it strained upward. I recognized both the Esse Stage and Hipster from many hours spent online, researching and window shopping. I could hardly believe my good luck in finding them to try out at the club.


“You’re so beautiful. Why don’t you come down here?” The eagerness in my husband’s voice was unmistakable.


“I will in a moment,” I promised. But there was one more thing I wanted to do before we really got started. With the fluffy red cuffs I found by the shapes, I bound his wrists to the D-rings at the Esse Stage’s base. By now my pussy was so hot and wet I could hardly stand it, but I took my time, slowly stretching myself along my husband’s taut, muscular body, rubbing my nibbles along his skin from groin to chest. Then I dangled my breasts above his mouth. He ran his tongue over each nipple, making me groan and grind against his tight balls. The licking turned to sucking, and I couldn’t hold back any more. I opened a pocket of lube from the basket of provided goodies and rubbed it on his penis in smooth, firm strokes. With my feet on the floor, I straddled him and guided his cock into my pussy as I lowered myself onto him. I gasped, feeling the entire length of him inside me, at just the right angle to hit my g-spot. I started slowly, sliding up and down on his shaft, stroking my clit as I did.


“Oh, you’re so good,” I moaned, grabbing my boobs with both hands as I rode him harder.  Faster, and faster I thrust, trembling with pleasure every time I came down and felt his balls against my clit.


“Ah…I’m about to cum,” he moaned.


“Go ahead. Me too,” I managed to pant. And then I couldn’t talk anymore, as I climaxed with a scream of pure ecstasy at the waves of pleasure washing over me. My vagina convulsed as I rode him, and just when I was sure I couldn’t take anymore, I felt the hot gush and heard his groan as he came inside me.


Quivering, I collapse against his chest. “I’m pretty sure everyone in the club heard that,” I panted.


“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured as we lay there, our sweat-slick bodies molded to each other. “We’ve got to get some of these Liberator shapes.”


I couldn’t agree more.




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