Fortune Teller’s Frenzy: Unraveled in the Booth

A couple of years ago, I split from my spouse and moved back to my old stomping grounds, settling into a cozy loft while I rebuilt my life from scratch. My place was just a short walk from my sister’s house, and we were tight. She’s a tiny thing, a pediatric nurse with a baby face that makes her look barely 25, even though she’s pushing 40. She’s about 4’10”, with fair skin, a pixie cut, and an innocent charm that hides her wild side. Her standout feature? A sprawling tattoo of a dragon coiling around her left thigh, its tail snaking up toward her hip, vibrant and bold.

Here’s the deal: I was on the prowl for some casual fun, maybe even a spark that could turn into something real. I started poking around online, scrolling through forums and local Reddit threads, until I stumbled on a group for the city’s underground party scene. I joined, mostly lurking, only showing up to the occasional event. Then they announced a big masquerade bash for Mardi Gras, and since singles had to pay a fee, I threw together a costume – a Phantom of the Opera getup, complete with a half-mask and a velvet cape.

The party was electric, and by 1 a.m., the costume contest was in full swing. The winner stole the show: a woman dressed as a sultry fortune teller, with a sheer, beaded skirt that hugged her curves, a low-cut corset, and a glittering choker that screamed seduction. She was petite, with a tight, toned body and a mischievous grin that had me weak in the knees.

The host hyped up the crowd, yelling, “Turn around, show it off!” They tugged off her shawl, revealing a glimpse of lacy lingerie beneath. My heart raced, and my body reacted instantly, heat rushing through me as she spun, her skirt riding up to tease a jeweled plug nestled between her cheeks, catching the light as she moved. The crowd roared, and I was completely captivated by her confidence, her hips swaying like she owned the room.

The host upped the ante, calling up the top two guys from the contest – one dressed as a pirate, the other a masked Zorro. They were told to “unwrap” her, and they didn’t hesitate. The pirate lifted her skirt higher, spreading her thighs just enough to show off that sparkling plug, while Zorro’s hands roamed her waist, teasing the crowd. Her breasts, full but not oversized, spilled slightly from the corset, her nipples hard and visible through the thin fabric, begging for attention.

When the host asked what she wanted as her prize, she pointed at the pirate with a wicked smile and said, “I want him.” The room erupted in cheers, the tension thick enough to choke on. The host wheeled out a semi-sheer curtained booth, and with a quick glance at their partners for approval, the two were ushered inside.

I looked around for my brother-in-law, a paramedic who was mingling nearby, his hand casually brushing the arm of another woman as they laughed with her partner. The vibe in the room was pure chaos, electric and raw.

The lights dimmed, and a spotlight hit the booth, the curtains just sheer enough to let us see silhouettes and flashes of skin. She dropped to her knees, her hands working the pirate’s belt with practiced ease. Her lips wrapped around him, slow at first, teasing, then taking him deeper, her head bobbing rhythmically as she swallowed him whole. The crowd was hushed, mesmerized, as she worked him with expert precision, her tongue flicking out to trace every inch before pulling him in again, her throat constricting around him in a way that made my own breath catch.

Couples around me were getting handsy, some slipping off to dark corners, others making out right there, no shame. Then, in a move that sent a jolt through me, she stood, hiked up her skirt, and straddled a velvet chair, spreading her legs wide. The pirate knelt before her, his face buried between her thighs, his tongue lapping at her with slow, deliberate strokes. She arched back, her fingers gripping the chair, moaning loud enough for us to hear through the booth’s thin walls. He sucked and teased, his hands spreading her wider, his lips and tongue working her clit until her hips bucked, her breath hitching in sharp gasps. After what felt like an eternity of her writhing under his mouth, she stood, turned, and bent over the chair, offering herself.

The pirate didn’t waste a second. He positioned himself behind her, gripping her hips as he thrust in, slow at first, then harder, deeper, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing faintly. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, as he pounded into her, lifting her small frame off the ground with each thrust. Her breasts bounced free from the corset, her nipples grazing the chair’s edge as she braced herself. Within minutes, he pulled out, spinning her around to finish across her lips and chin, her tongue darting out to catch what she could as she knelt, panting, her eyes locked on his.

The lights cut out, and when they flickered back on, she stood there in just her lacy thong, her hair wild, beads of sweat glistening on her skin. The host called for applause, giving her a firm smack on the ass as she strutted back to her table, her hips swaying with every step.