If you want to read about the first fuck of my first solo vacation or want more background on me, you can read [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/dx78ec/first_fuck_of_my_first_solo_vacation_fm_public/) I’m going to preface this story by saying this is the hottest sexual experience I’ve had to date. It was spontaneous, anonymous, sexy as fuck, and fulfilled a fantasy I had been nurturing. I like to tell all the details of stories, including the awkward ones, because sex is often funny and weird and often that makes it even more endearing, but this story has none of that. It was hot as fuck. It’s also VERY long.
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I got back to my Airbnb after my first fuck around 5am Sunday morning, exhausted from wine and public sex. But I couldn’t sleep for long; I wanted to go to a famous nightclub* with a notoriously difficult door and long queues. I had already been to another club with a tough door on Friday, and got in without issue, so I felt good about my chances of getting in. But I didn’t want to risk denial and I didn’t want to wait in an hours-long line. A friend had told me that what I should do is go early on Sunday morning, when there was likely to be little to no line, get the stamp for re-entry, go inside and check it out, then leave, go home and sleep more, before going back later in the afternoon/evening. So I slept for about 4 hours, and around 10am on a Sunday I got up, got dressed in black shorts, a thin black crop top, black boots and socks, and my black leather collar. No bra, no makeup. I put my black raincoat on over my ensemble, and I headed out.
On my walk over, I thought of a fantasy I had masturbated to many times since deciding to make this trip. This club has a no-pictures policy. I had been to a couple of queer, kink-centric events at home that had strict no phones policies, and I found it freeing to feel safe being consensually sexy without the fear of people, intentionally or accidentally, taking nonconsensual videos or photos. I fantasized about what I would do in a place with a debaucherous reputation where no one knew me and where no one would take pictures of me. What came into my imagination was me, in the middle of the crowded dance floor, stripping off all my clothes and being fucked until I orgasmed over and over again in the middle of a throbbing mass of bodies. Now, I had outdoor sex quite a few times, sex in front of enormous windows, and frankly I imagine many of my neighbors have seen me naked and/or fucking because I rarely close my blinds and live only a few feet above ground level. But I had never knowingly cum for an audience, and I was interested.
There was no queue. I walked right up the front, and was quickly given the thumbs up. I realized I hadn’t been breathing. I got patted down, had my ID checked, paid my cover, and had stickers put on the camera of my phone.
The club was entirely different than I had constructed in my head. I grabbed a beer from the bar, and started wandering around to understand the layout. First, I walked out into the first dancefloor and just stood there in awe. This is a little crunchy of me, but I consider myself to be a highly intuitive person and I’m sensitive to the energy of spaces. The energy of this room was dark, metaphorically and physically, but not in a way that felt unsafe, sad, or scary. This mass of people was moving a way where it looked like their bodies were neurologically connected. It was intense, but it was also comforting and nearly cathartic.
I moved onto the second room, where the energy was decidedly brighter. The music was lighter, and the bodies were bopping around, doing their own thing, delightfully out of sync with each other. I didn’t want to be in the middle of it, so I sat down on a couch that overlooked the floor and took it in. I talked to some people and was offered cigarettes and an undoubtedly erotic foot massage, both of which I turned down. After a while, I left and explored some of the other parts of the club, taking particular note of a maze of completely dark space where people typically go to have sex. I got some frozen yogurt, voyeured the bottom-level dance floor for a bit longer, and left to get some more sleep before heading back later in the day.
I went back around 6pm and the line was long. I walked right up to the door; my plan to go early for the re-entry stamp had been a good one. I bought another beer, not yet emotionally ready to start doing drugs yet. I also still had to figure out how to get drugs, but I wasn’t worried. I started chatting with a local regular, and he gave me a tour. He found out I was alone and told me to look for him in a particular spot if I needed anything. I finished my beer, we parted ways, and I slithered my way onto the downstairs dancefloor, joining the bodies. For an hour, I danced without agenda. There was a slight change in the music that snapped me into my physical reality and reminded me that I was thirsty. I left the dancefloor to get some water, and I remembered that I’m a horny fucking slut. Having just fucked a man, I was in the mood for pussy. So I went back to the dance floor, and started surveying the non-cis-men. A joint appeared in front of my face, and barely looking at who was offering, I grabbed it and inhaled. I turned to thank the passer, and when I turned back a man was standing in front of me, beckoning me to dance with him. I examined him. Nope. I wanted pussy. I’m a picky slut. I shook my head; he got the idea and walked away.
Then I spot her: a short, dark-haired, olive-skinned woman with a huge ass and tits bursting out of her corset. Body-wise she was the complete opposite of me. I towered over her. She glanced back at me and gave me a dirty smile. I moved my way up to be closer to her, but I didn’t try to dance with her. I knew she knew I was there. I kept dancing alone, and eventually someone with her offered me a cigarette, which I declined, and poppers, which I accepted. He leaned down to say something to her, and then walked off the dancefloor. Soon after he left, she slowly started working her way back towards me until her beautiful ass was pressed up against me. I had at least 7 inches on her height-wise, so I spread my legs wide so I could feel her grind her ass up against my crotch. She turned around to say something and I leaned down:
“You are incredibly beautiful”
“You are fucking gorgeous”
She smiled, turned around, and kept grinding against me. I was running my hands across her arms, her collarbones, her thighs, the crease of her hips – anywhere I could reach. She kept pressing back into me harder. I was licking my lips thinking how I wanted to be grinding my face into her pussy when she pulled away and turned around, a devilish grin on her face:
“My boyfriend is jealous that I am dancing with a girl as beautiful as you.”
“So let him be jealous.”
“I can’t.”
She was playing with me. I like being used like a toy, but not like this. I sighed. This was not my first go-around with straight girls teasing me. I had flashbacks of a girl who let me finger her pussy and suck her tits on the street while I told her how I wanted to taste her in the few moments we weren’t sloppily making out. An hour or two later she told me she was ‘actually very straight’. I shook my head at this gorgeous woman in front of me and smiled because what else can you really do?
“You’re trouble. Have fun.”
I walked off the dance floor, and decided it was time for some fucking drugs. It was just before midnight. Almost immediately, I bumped into the new friend who had given me the tour earlier. I asked him where to get drugs, and while he didn’t have any, he knew how to go about buying. After I had purchased a gram of crushed crystal molly because no one would sell a half, I guessed conservatively on a dose, filled a bottle with water, and got another frozen yogurt. I waited about an hour, and felt nothing. So I conservatively dosed again and had a smoothie. Finally, around 1am, I started to feel fucking good. Europeans seem to be spoiled on great, cheap wine, and fantastic drugs. I go back to the dark dancefloor, and it feels completely different. It feels wild. I start dancing, and I feel feral. Soon another man is coming towards me. I’m not feeling him. He asks if I want to dance, and I say I’m really only into women. He looks a little disappointed but he walks away. I start thinking that I’m never going to find a girl to fuck in this club. I have been dancing for hours now and I’m sweaty and hot and bothered. I leave the dancefloor, cool off, get more water, and dose again.
I go back out and I start dancing again. I quickly get hot again, so I roll my already very-tiny crop top up, tucking it into the armpits of my top. Since I’m not wearing a bra, this leaves my underboob exposed, and I know that it’s likely it will end up riding up all the way over my tits. That turns me on. I start dancing again. I’m totally lost in it, but I’m snapped out of it when I hear a male voice with a British accent behind me:
“Would you like to dance?”
I turn around and don’t even bother to take him in before saying:
“I’m really only into women.”
Then I really look at him. And I realize he’s sexy. He’s probably 6 feet tall, brown skin and black hair, likely Indian. He has great arms, a sly toothy grin, and I can’t help myself but let my gaze settle on his hands. I love good hands. He has strong-looking hands. I am a little dazed:
“But if it’s just dancing…”
His sly grin turns into a full, warm smile, and he reassures me:
“It’s just dancing.”
I turn back around, inhale the moment, memorizing it in my mind, and I think *I really hope this isn’t just fucking dancing.*
I’m facing forwards, towards the DJ, and he’s standing behind me. He gently puts his hands on my hips, and that’s the only part of him touching me for a few minutes. We are just dancing. I need to feel him against me. I don’t look back at him; I simply grab one of his hands and move it down to the top of my thigh from my hip. To do this he has to step closer to me. He’s a quick study, and soon I can feel his chest against my back, his mouth near my ear, those hands running up and down my legs and hips. He’s being conservative with his hands, letting me guide, but he’s tightly holding me against him.
I feel that my top, still tucked into my armpits, has ridden up and the bottoms of my areolas are exposed; it’s just the actual nipple keeping the delicate fabric in place. I take one of his hands and gently slide it up past the waistband of my shorts to my abdomen, positioning his thumb so it’s right at the bottom of my breasts. My whole body shudders as I feel his hands sliding across my sweaty abdomen. There’s something chemically electric about the first time a new fingertip touches your torso. He moves his hand up so his thumb is grazing my nipples. I’m also aware that my boobs are now fully exposed. I feel myself get incredibly wet. I love a long tease. I sigh and sink back into him, letting my head fall to his shoulder. He gets more daring with hands, and soon he’s cupping and kneading my breasts, gently playing with my nipple, but most importantly, he moves his other hand near the waistband of my shorts. He uses his hands on my boob to grip me tightly, and whispers in my ear:
“You are so fucking sexy.”
I breathe out heavily again. He moves his hand down the outside of my shorts slowly, giving me the opportunity to stop him. I don’t. My eyes are closed in a state of bliss. He pauses with his right around just above my clit, and he moves his left hand from my left tit to my right, his forearm forcefully holding me against him. His right hand moves further and further down until he gently puts his right hand between my legs over the fabric of my shorts. He cups me for a moment, and then gently drags his fingertips from their resting place near my asshole all the way to my clit where he lets them rest for a minute. He moves his right hand to my right inner thigh, up into my shorts, dragging his fingertips in that same teasing way along the crease where my thigh meets the lacy outline of my panties. He moves back over my shorts, and repeats this pattern a couple of times until I can’t stand it anymore.
I need to him to touch me.
I take his hand, and I move it up and slide his fingertips under the waistband of my shorts. He reaches down until his hand is resting over the fabric of my panties in the same way it had been resting over the fabric of my shorts. He does the same gentle dragging of his fingertips over the fabric of my panties, back to front. I know he can feel my wetness. He’s teasing me, and I fucking love being teased – the more drawn out the tease, the stronger the orgasm. I like being forced to beg; I find it an incredible turn on to feel like I’m being forced to choose between self-respect and sensual pleasure. I love that he’s making me beg for his touch without words. Just him running his fingers over the fabric of my panties feels amazing; my body shakes and I have my first orgasm. It was small, but obvious. He knows.
He takes his hand out of my shorts, releases his grip from my breasts, and starts to turn me around to face him. I think he’s about to kiss me. I pull my body away from him just a little bit, and look right at him shaking my head. He looks a bit surprised, but once I pull myself back into him and put his hands back on me, his grin returns. I turn back around, and he’s up against my back again. The fun is just beginning.
He returns to holding me against him, his left hand on my right breast, his forearm again holding me against him. He slides his right hand back into my shorts, but this time he immediately slides his hand under the waist of my panties. My mouth opens and I exhale as I finally feel his fingers directly on my vulva. Those strong-looking hands. He starts expertly moving his fingers around my vulva, rubbing his curled fingertips up and down my vulva. Fuck. I’m running out of synonyms for how good this feels. His hand is curled, and as a result I realize that my shorts have been pushed so low that some of my red pubic hair is exposed.
And I suddenly remember that I’m on a dancefloor with hundreds of people. I’m facing forwards so the whole front of my body is exposed; my tits out, my pubic hair is bared, and a man is clearly pleasuring me. Holy fuck. This sudden awareness leads to a flood of wetness coming out of my vagina. He notices, and takes the opportunity to slide a finger inside of me. Fuck. I’m now being obviously fingered on this dancefloor. There is no hiding what is going on. He starts gently finger-fucking me, still using his thumb on my clit. I cum. He doesn’t stop; au contraire, he goes harder. He stops letting me guide. He presses another finger into me, and he starts finger fucking me harder and playing with my clit more aggressively. He moves his left hand, which was still playing with my right breast, up to my neck where he wraps his hand around it, his forearm now aggressively holding me against him. I fucking love being choked, but I want to feel even more degraded. I grab his hand that’s on my neck and I slide his fingertips underneath my collar. He starts using my own collar to choke me as he relentlessly fingerfucks me. I cry out, but the music is loud so only he can hear. I cum violently, but he still doesn’t let up. Instead he gets more aggressive. He is pounding my pussy with his fingertips, his thumb rhythmically moving up the side of my clit, choking me with my collar, exposing my body and my orgasm to hundreds of people as I have one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had. I’m sure he feels my pussy spasm around his fingertips, and I’m sure he notices that my legs begin taking on the consistently of squeezable jelly. He is holding me up. Once I’m coming down from it, I breathe in the deepest breath, turn around and hug him. He smiles, that warm grin:
“Can I get you a water?”
I nod, reorganize my clothing, and we walk to the bar. He asks me if I want my own bottle, but I insist that I’m happy to share one. He hands the bottle to me:
“I would love to eat your pussy.”“I don’t think so, I think that was enough for me.”“If you think what I did with my hands was amazing, let me show you what I can do with my mouth.”“I don’t think so –““Three minutes. Give me three minutes.”
I like his confidence. I’m turned on by it. So I agree. He takes me by the hand and leads me to dark maze of rooms. We find a spot where I can lie down. My body is totally in the dark, but there’s a small amount of light coming in from the dancefloor near my feet, so from my position I can see shadows of other people lingering around us, watching. My ass is at the edge of whatever bench I’m lying down on, and he’s kneeling at the end. He slides my shorts and panties off and puts them off to the side. And he goes to work.
I don’t know if it was the drugs, the situation, his pussy-eating skills, or all of the above – but this was the greatest head I had ever received. He gave me a few gentle licks from back to front, then a few big licks, and then he went to work devouring my pussy, driving his whole face into it like his ticket past the pearly gates depended on the quality of my orgasm. He was using his hands to spread my lips, and I came within 90 seconds. But he didn’t let go. He sucked my clit, pulling it side to side, up and down, and slid his fingers inside of me while he kept his mouth firmly clamped over my clit. Our voyeurs started reaching for me, and while he was making me cum I was also kicking away people who were trying to jump in. But I started cumming again, shaking, screaming, moaning, and I didn’t have the strength to kick anyone away. My hips were bucking but he was holding on tight, unwilling to release his grip on my pussy. I was totally lost in my orgasm; it was one of the most primal orgasms I’ve ever had.
Two insane orgasms later, and it had been about three minutes.
He released his grip on my pussy, and I sat up. I could only slightly make out the contours of his face, but he looked pleased with himself:
“So how did I compare to women?”
I start doing internal calculus. Do I allow him the ego boost by telling him how fucking amazing he was? That he was genuinely better than any of the women and basically every man I had ever slept with? Instead:
“It’s just…different…with women.”
I stand up, still a bit wobbly and disoriented, and put on my clothes. We walk out of the dark rooms and I hug him again. He gets a naughty grin on his face:
“I’d love to fuck you.”
I laugh and shake my head. He asks me if I’m traveling alone like him. I tell him it’s my first time. He smiles:
“It’s kind of weird the first time, but you get used to it and it gets hard to travel with other people. How long are you here for?”
“I’m here until Wednesday! You?”
“My plane leaves in about four hours.”
“Fuck! Where are you from?”
“London. You?”
“New York.”
“Ah, shit I was just there two months ago!”
“Well if you’re ever back, you should call me.”
We exchange phone numbers. He asks me what my plans are for the rest of night, and I tell him I’m going to do some more drugs. He laughs, we hug again and I bid him adieu.
A few minutes after he left, my phone buzzed:
“If I had you in my bed right now…”
“It’s a shame I have to leave!”
I respond with what is clearly my go-to move:
“Who needs beds when there’s plenty of good alleys and parks ;) ”
And it ends with:
“Well if you can’t wait.”
“Until we meet again! X”
We have not met again. We have not messaged again. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about texting him at least once a week. I want to tell him how special this experience was to me, how he spontaneously and perfectly fulfilled one of my biggest sexual fantasies. And I would absolutely fly to London for a weekend to let him fucking use me as his fucktoy.
*This club feels like fight club to me; the first rule of this club is you don’t talk about this club. Yet here I am.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/e13m8l/it_wasnt_just_dancing_or_the_second_fuck_of_my
* the club must be Berghain