Chapter 5: The Clipboard

The parking lot was already half-full when we pulled up, cars angled toward the squat cinderblock building like moths to a flame. Headlights flickered, engines hummed, and the air smelled of sweat, leather, and something darker beneath it all. It wasn’t even nine yet.

"That's new," Lisa said from the passenger seat. She was wearing a black slip dress that barely qualified as clothing — thin straps, deep neckline, hemline that would scandalize a nightclub. Underneath, nothing. I knew because she'd told me three times during the drive, each time with more pride.

I'd gone with a white button-down shirt tied at my waist and a denim skirt that was more suggestion than fabric. No bra. No panties. The Friday night air was warm and thick and smelled like gasoline and crushed mesquite from the lot next door.

"There's a line," I said.

There was. Not just bikes lined up along the chain-link fence — there were women. Six, maybe seven of them, standing in a loose cluster outside Max's office door at the side of the building. Some were in groups of two. One was alone, chewing gum and scrolling her phone. They ranged from their twenties to their forties, dressed in everything from leather to lingerie, and every single one of them looked like she had somewhere specific to be.

"What the hell?" Lisa got out of the car and stared.

The office door opened and Max stepped out. His beard looked freshly trimmed, his cut vest straightened, and he was holding a clipboard — an actual clipboard with actual paper on it — and a pen tucked behind his ear like a frustrated Little League coach.

"Evening, ladies," he said to the group. Then he spotted us and his whole face changed. "Well. If it isn't my Friday night headliners."

"Headliners?" I said.

He walked toward us, leaving the cluster of women waiting, and lowered his voice. "Word got around. After last week — your friend here taking twelve, you doing twelve the week before — the club's been getting calls. Emails. Personal visits." He gestured with the clipboard. "That's what I'm dealing with. Sign-up sheet. Background check. Rule sheet. Liability waiver."

"Liability waiver?" Lisa raised an eyebrow.

"One of the guys last week — number seven, the thick one you rode reverse cowgirl — his wife found out. Not about the club. About his cholesterol. Apparently he had a minor cardiac event in the parking lot afterward. She's threatening to sue the bar."

"Was it the curved one or the one with the—"

"Doesn't matter. Point is, we're running a tighter ship now. Screened participants, scheduled time slots, a proper roster." He flipped a page on the clipboard. "You two are confirmed for the main booth tonight. Double stations. I had my guys knock out the wall between booths three and four, so you'll have one long room with two stations side by side. Full privacy. Your cameras, your rules."

Lisa grabbed my arm. "Side by side. He actually did it."

"I told you I'd see what I could do." Max pulled the pen from behind his ear and made a note. "You're in at ten. Twenty-four cocks on the roster tonight. Twelve per station, alternating. You want them simultaneous or staggered?"

"Simultaneous," we said together, and then looked at each other and laughed.

Max grinned under that massive beard. "I'll relay the instructions." He paused. "One more thing. Those women out there — they're here for the booth. They want in on the rotation. New participants. I'm vetting them tonight, but they'll be watching the feed."

"Feed?"

"Closed circuit. Private room. Participants only. I told them they could observe the first session and decide if they want to commit." He looked between us. "That a problem?"

I thought about it — strangers watching Lisa and me work through two dozen cocks in a gloryhole booth — and felt heat bloom between my legs so fast it almost made me dizzy.

"That's fine," I said.

"Better than fine," Lisa added.

Max nodded and walked back to his clipboard and his waiting crowd. One of the women — tall, dark-haired, maybe thirty-five, wearing a corset and jeans — looked past him at us with open curiosity. She mouthed something to the woman next to her. The other woman looked at us too, then smiled.

"That one wants to fuck us," Lisa said quietly.

"She wants to be us," I corrected. "There's a difference."

"Maybe there isn't, tonight."

We went inside. The bar was busier than last week — word had clearly spread — and the energy was different. Men at the bar looked at us with a kind of reverence I wasn't used to. A woman in a flannel shirt at the pool table raised her glass to us as we passed. Someone said "Friday queens" under their breath and Lisa's spine straightened like she'd been plugged into a socket.

We had an hour to kill. Max brought us whiskey — top shelf, not the well stuff — and we sat in a booth near the back, knees touching under the table.

"How are you feeling?" Lisa asked.

"Honestly? Nervous. Last time I was alone in the booth. This time you're right there and there are people watching on a closed circuit and there are twenty-four—"

"Twenty-four cocks."

"Twenty-four. That's double what I did before. That's—"

"That's the point." She put her hand on my knee and squeezed. "You handled twelve like a champion. You made it look easy. And I'll be right there. When you need a break, I'll cover. When I need a break, you'll cover. And when we both need a break, we have each other."

"That's the part I'm most excited about," I admitted.

"Which part?"

"The part where I can touch you while it's happening. Last week, filming you — watching you take that cock in your ass — I wanted to put my mouth on you so badly I almost forgot to hold the camera."

Lisa's eyes darkened. She finished her whiskey in one swallow. "We've got forty minutes."

"Lisa."

"Come on." She slid out of the booth and took my hand. I followed her past the bar, past the pool table, past the women still waiting outside Max's office, to the single-stall bathroom in the back hallway. She locked the door behind us.

The bathroom was small and ugly — fluorescent light, tile floor, a mirror with a crack running through it — but Lisa pressed me against the wall and kissed me and none of it mattered. Her mouth was hot and tasted like whiskey and her tongue pushed past my lips with a hunger that made my knees buckle.

"I've been thinking about this all week," she said against my mouth. "About your mouth on me. About what you did after my turn — cleaning me, feeding me, all of it. I came three times this week replaying it."

Her hands found the knot of my shirt and pulled it undone. The fabric fell open and my tits were exposed and she broke the kiss to look at them. "God, you're perfect."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it keeps being true." She bent and took my left nipple in her mouth, sucking hard, her tongue working the tip in fast circles. I gasped and grabbed the back of her head. She switched to the right, giving it the same treatment, and I felt wetness slide down my inner thigh.

Her hand went up my skirt — what there was of it — and her fingers found my pussy with zero hesitation. She slid two inside and I was so wet they went in to the knuckle without resistance.

"You're soaked," she said, almost laughing. "We haven't even started."

"You started it in the car when you told me three times you weren't wearing anything under that dress."

She fucked me with her fingers — slow, deliberate strokes, curling against my front wall — and I held onto her shoulders and tried to keep my breathing under control. Someone knocked on the door and we both froze.

"Occupied," Lisa called, and didn't stop moving her fingers.

"Max says ten minutes," a voice called back. One of his guys.

Lisa pulled her fingers out, brought them to her mouth, and sucked them clean while I watched. Then she kissed me one more time — I could taste myself on her tongue — and stepped back, straightening her dress.

"Let's go get fucked," she said.

Max's guy led us down the back corridor to the renovated booth. He'd been right — they'd knocked out the wall between three and four, creating one long room with two bench stations side by side. Each station had its own wall with two gloryholes at different heights. The benches were new, padded, and covered in what looked like vinyl — easy to clean, I realized, which meant they expected this to be a regular thing.

The lighting was better too — warm, dim but not dark, positioned so we could see each other clearly. There were mounts on the walls for phones. Two of them, angled to capture both stations. Lisa set her phone in one and I set mine in the other.

We could hear noise from the other side of the walls — muffled voices, the sound of zippers, chairs being adjusted. Max's crew getting the men in position.

"Twenty-four," Lisa said, looking at the four holes total — two per station. "That's a lot of cock."

"You auctioned off your attention in the parking lot and you're nervous now?"

"I didn't auction anything. I smiled at a guy and he gave me his number."

"That's auctioning. You just set the opening bid at zero."

She laughed and pulled me close. We were standing between the two stations, and she positioned us so we were facing each other, breast to breast. Her nipples were hard under the thin slip dress and I could feel them pressing against my bare skin where my shirt was still open.

"Whatever happens in here," she said, "we stay connected. Hands, mouths, whatever we can reach. Deal?"

"Deal."

A knock on the wall. Then the first cock appeared through the hole at Lisa's station — medium length, clean, already half-hard. A second later, one came through mine — slightly shorter, thicker, uncut.

We looked at each other.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Ready."

Lisa reached out and wrapped her hand around her cock, stroking it to full hardness. I did the same with mine, pulling the foreskin back and forth, feeling it thicken in my palm. We were three feet apart, working different men through different holes, and Lisa was right — being able to see her, to hear her breathing, to reach out and touch her — changed everything.

She went down on hers first. She sank to her knees and took it in her mouth, and I watched her lips stretch around the shaft as she worked it deeper. The wet sounds were obscene and perfect and I wanted to taste it too.

I knelt at my own station and took the thick uncut cock into my mouth. The head was fat and smooth and I had to open wide to fit it, but I worked it in, using spit and suction, bobbing slowly until I found my rhythm. The man on the other side pushed forward, feeding me more, and I relaxed my throat and let him in.

Beside me, Lisa was deep-throating her cock with practiced ease — all the way to the base, her nose pressed against the wall. She pulled back gasping and strings of spit connected her lips to the shaft. She looked at me with my mouth full and grinned.

"Show-off," I tried to say, but it came out as a muffled grunt around the fat head stretching my jaw.

She went back to work and so did I. I sucked and stroked, using one hand on the base while my mouth worked the top half. The guy was breathing hard on the other side and I could feel him getting close — the shaft swelling, the head pulsing against my tongue.

"He's about to go," I said, pulling back to stroke him fast.

"Swallow it," Lisa said, between her own sucks. "I want to see."

I put my mouth back over the head just as he came. Thick, warm spurts — one, two, three, four — flooding my mouth. I swallowed what I could but some leaked out the corners of my lips, running down my chin. He pulled back through the hole and I sat back on my heels, licking my lips.

Lisa pulled off her cock and leaned over. She licked the cum from my chin and kissed me, pushing her tongue into my mouth, searching for the taste of it. Then she went back to her station and took her cock deep again.

The first wave set the pattern. Cocks came through the holes in pairs — one for each of us — and we worked them side by side. Sometimes we were both on our knees, heads bobbing in unison, and I could hear the synchronized wet sounds of two mouths on two dicks and it was the filthiest, most beautiful thing I'd ever experienced. Sometimes one of us would finish first and watch the other, offering encouragement or reaching over to squeeze a breast, run a hand down a back, cup a pussy.

By cock number four, I was on my back on the bench with my legs up, taking a long thin cock deep in my pussy while Lisa was bent over her bench getting fucked from behind through the hole. I could see her face — eyes closed, mouth open, the expression I now recognized as her getting railed properly. I reached out and grabbed her hand and she squeezed it as the cock inside me bottomed out against my cervix.

"Harder," I told the wall, and the guy complied, slamming through the hole with enough force to rock the bench. My tits bounced with every thrust and Lisa watched, still getting fucked, her mouth open.

"He's deep," she said. "I can see your stomach moving."

"Feel it," I said, and put her hand on my lower belly. She pressed down and felt the cock sliding in and out through my skin and her eyes went wide.

"That's so fucking hot."

He came inside me — a flood, hot and thick, filling me up. When he pulled out, cum poured from my pussy and ran down to my asshole, pooling on the vinyl bench. Lisa's guy came seconds later, pulling out at the last second and spraying across her lower back, the cum splattering up to her shoulder blades.

We had a thirty-second break before the next pair came through. Lisa crawled over to my station and put her mouth on my pussy without warning. I gasped and grabbed her head. She licked and sucked, pulling the cum from inside me with her tongue, then crawled up and kissed me — a messy, open-mouthed kiss, cum flowing from her tongue to mine. I swallowed and she went back down for more, sucking gently at my entrance, gathering every drop.

"There's so much," she said, her lips glistening. "He must have been saving up."

"He probably was. They all probably are. They know what they're here for."

Cocks five and six came through. Lisa took hers in her ass — she'd brought the lube again, tucked into a hidden pocket in the slip dress — and I took mine in my pussy, riding it reverse cowgirl so I could watch her. She was on her side on the bench, one leg up, working a medium cock into her asshole with slow, controlled movements. Her face was concentrated, teeth on her lower lip, and when she had it all the way in she looked at me and exhaled.

"Full," she said.

"Good full or bad full?"

"So good." She started moving, fucking herself back onto it, and I matched her rhythm on my own cock. We moved together — two women riding two strangers through two holes, separated by three feet of air and connected by everything else. I reached over and put my hand on her thigh and she covered it with hers.

The guy in my pussy came first — a deep, pulsing release that I felt in my core. I clenched around him and came too, my orgasm triggered by the warmth flooding my insides. I lifted off and cum ran out of me in a thick stream. Lisa's guy finished in her ass, and when he pulled out, cum gushed from her gaping hole down over her pussy.

We switched. I cleaned her ass with my tongue while she cleaned my pussy with hers. We were sideways on the bench now, heads between each other's thighs, licking and sucking the cum from each other's fucked holes. The taste was overwhelming — cum and lube and pussy juice and sweat, all mixed together, warm and raw and human. Lisa's tongue was inside my pussy and my tongue was inside her asshole and we were both moaning into each other's bodies.

I pulled back with my mouth full and tapped her hip. She turned around and I kissed her, pushing the cum from her ass into her mouth. She swallowed, shuddered, and kissed me back, pushing cum from my pussy into mine. We traded back and forth, the kiss getting messier each time, until we were both covered in each other's fluids and the cum of men we'd never see.

Cocks seven through twelve blurred. I took three in my pussy, two in my mouth, and one between my tits — pressing them together while the cock thrust through the hole, the head appearing at the top of my cleavage for Lisa to suck on each upstroke. That one came across both our faces and we licked it off each other, laughing, cum on our noses and chins and eyelashes.

Lisa took four in her pussy and two in her mouth. One of the oral ones was huge — thick enough that her jaw cracked when she tried to open wide enough — and she deep-throated it with tears streaming down her cum-streaked face while I held her hair back and whispered encouragement. He came directly down her throat and she didn't spill a drop, swallowing convulsively, her eyes watering, and when she pulled back she looked at me with pure triumph.

By cock thirteen — the start of the second dozen — we'd stopped taking turns. Cocks came through and we shared them. One would come through Lisa's station and we'd both suck it, tongues working either side of the shaft, kissing around the head. One would come through mine and Lisa would ride it while I sat on her face, getting my pussy eaten while she got fucked, my hands on the wall for balance, cum from earlier sessions leaking down onto her forehead.

Number sixteen was the biggest of the night — a cock so thick that Lisa couldn't get her hand around it and I could barely fit the head in my mouth. We worked it together for five minutes, trading off, two mouths and four hands on one massive shaft, until he came like a fire hose — the first blast hit Lisa in the face, the second went across my tits, the third and fourth we caught in our mouths, and the rest we directed across each other's bodies like we were painting.

By twenty, we were wrecked. Both of us. Cum everywhere — faces, hair, tits, stomachs, thighs, pussies, the bench, the wall. Lisa's slip dress had been discarded after cock number eight. My shirt was open and stained. Our pussies were leaking constantly, thick white fluid running out of us with every movement. We'd each come at least four times. Lisa's asshole was gaping and dripping. My jaw was sore from deep-throating and my pussy was swollen and tender and still hungry.

Cocks twenty through twenty-four we took together — literally together. Lisa would straddle a cock through one hole while I sat behind her, reaching around to rub her clit and play with her tits while she rode. Or I'd be on my back getting fucked while Lisa sat on my face, and I'd eat her pussy while getting railed, the impact of each thrust pushing her weight down onto my mouth. We came together on cock twenty-two — a simultaneous orgasm that made us both scream loud enough to echo through the walls — and the guy inside me came at the same time, triggered by my pussy clenching around him like a fist.

Twenty-three and twenty-four came through the holes at the same time and we sucked them off side by side, on our knees, shoulders touching. We matched each other stroke for stroke — down together, up together, tongues swirling in unison. They came within seconds of each other and we both swallowed, then turned and kissed, the last loads of the night mixing between our mouths.

Then silence.

We sat on the bench — the cum-soaked, vinyl-covered bench — and leaned against each other. The room smelled like sex and sweat and cum and the particular industrial smell of the club through the walls. Lisa's head was on my shoulder. My hand was on her thigh. Cum was leaking from both of us, pooling on the bench in a spreading puddle.

I looked at the phones, still recording in their mounts, their red lights steady.

"We're going to need a bigger bench," Lisa said.

"We're going to need a shower."

"We're going to need a hose."

I laughed and kissed the top of her head. "How do you feel?"

She lifted her face — cum on her cheeks, in her hair, on her eyelids, her lips swollen and slick. "Like a fucking goddess. Again."

"Again," I agreed.

A knock on the wall. Max's voice, muffled. "You two alive in there?"

"Barely," Lisa called back.

"The observation room wants to know if you'll come say hi."

Lisa looked at me. I looked at Lisa.

"How many are in there?" I asked.

"Seven women. All vetted. All interested in next week's roster."

I stood up. Cum ran down both my legs. My shirt was open, my skirt was bunched around my waist, and I looked like I'd been through exactly what I'd been through.

"Tell them we'll be out in five minutes," I said. "And tell them next week they're not just watching."

Lisa stood up beside me, equally wrecked, equally naked, equally certain. "Tell them they're participating."

There was a pause. Then Max's beard-splitting grin was practically audible through the wall. "I'll start the paperwork."

We looked at each other — two women covered in the cum of twenty-four strangers, standing in a renovated gloryhole booth at the back of a biker bar on a Friday night — and Lisa said what we were both thinking.

"He's going to need a bigger clipboard."