All That Glitters free porn video

I was freezing. A bitter gust of wind whipped up the freshly fallen snow into whirling eddies and stung my cheeks. I braced against the blast then, in a lull, gazed at the skies. It didn’t look stormy. Virtually cloudless, the inky sky glistened with countless winking stars, a bright half-moon watching over them.

All along the street, the neon glow of bar fronts and hotel lobbies spilled across the frosty pavements and cobbled road. Strains of jazz and drumming dance beats swelled then ebbed as doors swung to and fro, the music competing with the rumble of car engines and distant clatter of horse-drawn carriages in the square beyond. And there was chatter – happy conversation and laughter – from all directions.

Beautiful. Vibrant. This city was stunning. The snow-dusted streets could have been snatched from a Christmas movie: a carefully crafted set brought to life with a tonne of fake snow and twisted garlands of twinkling, coloured lights jostled by giant fans. The festoons danced merrily on swaying trees, a myriad of colours merging, the kaleidoscopic spectrum painting the snowy ground and majestic frost-kissed buildings. Quite a sight. Both heaven and earth shimmered like the hand-glittered Christmas cards I’d made as a child.

Shivering, I tried to absorb the beauty, the magic, tried to believe… but it was all a façade. Beneath the glitter, this fairy tale city had a dark side, a festering core.

I returned my focus to the wrought-iron railings and glass double doors to one side of the hotel lobby. The street-level entranceway looked small and insignificant, yet what lay beyond was anything but. A gaudy neon sign over the doorway announced this was Euphoria: seedy strip club, notorious den of inequity and, on that night, the place I had to be.

I watched two thickset doormen vet the latest group to approach. The doors were obligingly flung wide and I glimpsed the brilliant electric blue steps that led to the vaulted cavern beneath the elegant gothic hotel. I knew what it looked like from online pictures; a chasm of colour with a long glass-topped bar and mirror-lined walls. I knew its target clientele, too – Stag and Hen parties, the dangerously inebriated would-be brides and grooms looking for adventure before tying the knot.

My teeth chattered uncontrollably but I wasn’t ready to cross the street and seek warmth inside. I’d never been to a place like Euphoria, never wanted to either. Stamping my feet, I contemplated calling it a night and returning to my modest but toasty hotel room. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Go on, be brave. Do it now.

The cold was becoming unbearable. My ears prickled beneath my woollen hat and my hands had solidified into ridged claws in spite of sturdy sheepskin gloves. Jigging on the spot, I watched a stretch limo purr over the icy cobbles and stop smoothly outside the club. Excited passengers tumbled out, purple tinsel wigs and matching printed T-shirts declaring this group to be Gary’s Stag Party. Name emblazoned in gold across his chest, Gary emerged last. He pointed to the sign above the entrance and, whooping loudly, staggered forward. The group disappeared into Euphoria’s belly.

Madness… it was madness being here but this was where she’d be. Or could be.

Another stretch limo parked behind the first. Hens emerged, a dozen or so, all fussing and clucking around a ‘bride’ wearing a white net veil and not much else. With more flesh on display than I’d show at the beach, the gaggle of girls scurried over the slippery pavement in heels I’d fear on a summer’s day.

Now. Go…

The presence of females encouraged me to act and I fell in behind them. Euphoria’s online advertisements promised a special night for both Stags and Hens but these were the first women I’d seen enter the venue, and I’d been watching for a while. Too long. I moved stiffly and, with cheeks and lips numbed, my attempt to smile at the doormen presented as a wonky sneer. Neither reacted other than to hold the door for me.

Don’t turn back, keep going.

Squinting in the neon glare, I descended into the mayhem. The sweaty heat of the cramped, vaulted cellar was overwhelming as was the strange, electronic dance music pumping from a powerful sound system. Pausing at the foot of the stairs, I gazed around. The glass-topped bar dominated one side of the room, blue and red neon flaring above the optics and bottles. Coloured lights swept the room in ever-changing patterns while strobe lighting took rapid-fire snapshots of the cavorting crowd on the packed dance floor, giving the impression they were moving in slow motion.

The would-be bride, now halfway across the room, glowed from amid her Hens, her white veil picked out by the UV light originating from the high ceiling. Huge mirrors reflected the bride and everything around her. The narrow room appeared twice as wide, the gathering doubled in number, the dancing lights more abundant. The online pictures hadn’t prepared me for the intensity of this visual onslaught, or the deafening noise. And my nostrils twitched as I inhaled the unbearable stench of cheap perfume, aftershave and goodness knows what else.

I didn’t want to stay, I really didn’t, but I had to. Spotting a cloakroom, I unbuttoned my coat and shrugged it off. Stuffing my hat, scarf, and gloves into the pockets, I passed the coat to a pretty, gum-chewing attendant, trying not to stare at her jaw-drooping tight leather dress. The girl shot me a white-toothed smile and gave me a flimsy pink cloakroom ticket. Pocketing it, I waited uneasily for her to assess my casual attire: plain blue T-shirt, jeans, and sturdy, rubber-soled ankle boots. When she didn’t bat an eyelid, I breathed again.

So, there was an ‘anything goes’ dress code. Relieved, I stepped toward the dancefloor and scanned the crowd. My confidence grew as I saw a mishmash of outfits from outlandish clown costumes to indecently skimpy clubbing gear. There were also people dressed in jeans and T-shirt, like me. I’d fit in. I’d blend in with the crowd. And what a crowd it was; the place was heaving. Every chair seemed occupied, every table littered with bottles and glasses, every inch of dance floor, with its swirling colours and strobing lights, crowded with partygoers.

A waitress nudged past me, breasts brushing my arm. I gaped. Topless waitresses? I wasn’t surprised per se; this was a strip club. But, somehow, I’d expected topless staff to be in a cordoned-off VIP area, not on the floor mingling with the general populous. I counted four swaggering, semi-naked girls delivering drinks to lusty men who ogled their breasts and bellies, drinking in the tanned flesh with the same greedy thirst they unleashed on hastily-quaffed beers.

There were scantily dressed waiters too: bow ties, aprons, Doc Marten boots, and tiny thongs leaving taut, tanned backsides on display. The targeted pockets of Hens squealed girlishly when placing their drink orders and gawped like teenagers at bulging biceps and buttocks.

There were a surprising number of Hens, far more than I’d expected. I smiled to see them openly eyeing the topless waitresses as well as the beefed-up waiters. They crowded around the pole-dancers, too, yelling and whooping as loudly as the men. I could see why; the dancers were fascinating. Nerves surrendering to intrigue, I picked my way toward the bar to get a better view. The two naked dancers twirled around silver poles at each end of the long, glass counter. Oiled skin glistening as they flew, they looped effortlessly, long hair swishing, bodies contorting into inhuman shapes. How could anyone move like that?

The bartenders were less spectacular: an identical row of leather-clad, thigh-high booted girls, with hair in high ponytails and heavily made-up eyes. They dished out drinks and the promise of good times, serving the thirsty throng with mechanical efficiency and very human, seductive smiles. They were good. Very good. Was Tara among them?

I edged closer, weaving between tables, careful to avoid tripping on the debris of handbags, jackets and empty bottles. I skimmed the faces behind the bar.

No… no Tara.

Another topless waitress wiggled past, tiny ruffled skirt touching my leg. I stared after her jiggling hips and snaking back. Was that what Tara did? Did she patrol the club wearing nothing but a teensy skirt, heels and a smile? Was this what my sister had chosen instead of a place at Oxford?

I moved slowly through the crowd, studying faces, searching, but Tara wasn’t working the floor. I was certain of it. Hands on hips, I gazed around, unsure what to do next. Look again? Leave? The latter was more appealing. Although my nerves had settled somewhat, the blatant displays of sex – from the cherry-red fuck-me smiles of the barmaids to the hard nipples of the topless waitresses and spread-eagle thighs of the pole dancers – bothered me. I found it discomforting to see men openly touch their crotches as they ogled the waitresses, and women laugh as they joggled their boobs in each other’s faces, shamelessly basking in vulgar debauchery.

Sex was celebrated here, adored. It was tangible; I could breathe it in, imbibe myself in the heady aroma, the moist, sticky heat. But it was alien to me, another world. And Tara, my little sister… how did she fit in here?

I shook my head, muttering, “No, she got it wrong, all wrong.”

The girl in the bar must have been mistaken, must have thought the photo I’d shown her was of someone else. Tara wasn’t here and my disappointment at not finding her was quickly succeeded by a sense of relief. Satisfied I’d searched thoroughly, I turned for the exit. I’d go back to my hotel, wash, change, and resume the hunt in the morning.

I headed for the cloakroom, dodging partygoers either too drunk to walk in a straight line or too interested in the waitresses’ boobs to look where they were going. Music pounded in my temples and vibrated the floor beneath my boots. It was uncomfortably loud, deafening; I was glad to be leaving it behind.

I paused when it suddenly dipped. What the… The crowd surged like a tidal wave, buffeting and pushing me toward the far end of the club. I gasped, tried to break free, but the wave carried me. The music swelled again, different, raunchy: a breathy voice, seductive bass throb. A track I recognised but couldn’t place. The lights dimmed and the crowd swarmed around a small raised stage, more circus podium that performance platform.

Curious, I watched spotlights cut through the gloom and two waifish figures strut into the glare. They patrolled the stage, wiggling arses and fluttering lashes to reel in their audience. The spotlights danced on tanned, oiled skin, and glinted off body glitter and belly-button studs. They were dressed identically, though ‘dressed’ was the wrong word. Black lace thongs barely covered their sex, puffy labia clearly outlined beneath the gossamer fabric. Their tops were mere straps of leather that crisscrossed breasts and wrapped around slender torsos. Prominent dark nipples protruded proudly, each girl quick to touch and pinch the bumpy flesh, much to the crowd’s delight.

The only items of any substance were their impractical but striking, knee-high boots: leather lace-ups with platform soles and towering spiked heels. How they walked in them, let alone danced, was beyond me. Their hair was striking too. Each wore a high ponytail, like the bar staff, only longer. One blonde, one brunette, they swished and twirled their manes, lustful smirks curving glossy, painted lips.

No! My heart stilled and a cold dread crept through me. The blonde: blue eyes, button nose, dimples when she smiled. I stared in disbelief, willing my eyes to be deceived… Tara.

When I’d been told she worked at Euphoria, I was shocked, but I’d presumed she worked the bar or perhaps behind the scenes washing glasses. Not on stage, not one of the scantily dressed showgirls I’d been confronted with on the club’s adult only website. The music’s slow, grinding beat vibrated my very core and the lights around the podium dimmed further, drawing the eye to the glittering girls. I watched Tara parade around the podium, flaunting her body and, for a second, I thought our eyes met. Chest suddenly tight, I inched backward until a line of excited Stags closed the gap in front of me. Shielded from sight, I peeped through the crowd.

The girls linked fingers, palms pressed together. They swayed to the music then, drawing closer, kissed. They slid their tongue into the other’s mouth, exploring, probing, the action greeted with whooping satisfaction from the hot-blooded spectators. The brunette winked when she broke free. Back arched, she offered her pert backside to an eager Stag – from Gary’s Stag Party, if I wasn’t mistaken. He patted her firm arse, his actions scrutinised by the stern-faced security men on each side of the podium. Brunette pouted cherry-red lips and rubbed her ‘sore’ backside, then waggled a finger at the gratified Stag and strutted across the podium to repeat the performance with another mark.

She was such a brash tease, impish and sexy. My cheeks grew hot as I realised I couldn’t stop looking at her. I watched her beckoning to Tara and grasp my sister’s breasts. She fondled them and rolled the nipples between her fingers. Then, bending, legs spread, she peeled aside her panties and fingered her sex while taking Tara’s right nipple into her mouth.

I clutched the man in front of me as the world swam before my eyes. Hastily muttering apologies, I shoved my way through the throng, seeking the exit. Strange thoughts, confusion, crowded my mind: how could Tara, a grade ‘A’ student with an unconditional offer from an elite university, be here, doing that? How had the sweet little girl whose hair I used to braid ended-up as part of a sex act, titillating drunken Stags and Hens?

My legs trembled and, head in a spin, I staggered sideways, slumping against the wall. I bit my lower lip - it wasn’t just Tara troubling me. My core fizzed, there was heat between my legs and moisture… Oh God, the brunette. Shaken as I was to see my sister, I was smitten by her partner. That beautiful brunette, so delectably dirty. The things she did… I slunk into the shadows of a dark corner and took slow steady breaths but my heart still raced.

A soft grunt to my right disturbed me. In the darkness, a girl leaned casually against the wall. She was scantily dressed in a sparkling silver bra and hot-pants, a white and red ‘L’ plate drawn onto her tanned belly. The outline glowed in the ultraviolet light that even penetrated this murky corner. Her curvaceous body thus boldly displayed, huge brown eyes focussed on me.

Her arm was moving, juddering. A hand deep inside her silver hot pants, what she was doing was unmistakable. She rubbed hard, her grunts and shallow breaths keeping pace with her rapid movements and all the while, her liquid-chocolate eyes held mine. Lines creased her brow as she suddenly tensed. She clutched her head, dislodging her Marilyn Monroe wig, tipping it to a jaunty, unnatural angle. Then she gasped and moaned softly before a wide and satisfied smile revealed teeth that glowed as brightly as her ‘L’ plate.

I shifted uneasily, aware of my gaping mouth and the burning heat between my thighs. And still the girl smiled, apparently thrilled to be caught masturbating and delighted to have kept my attention. Her eyebrows arched insolently as she raised fingers to her lips and sucked.

The music suddenly faded and an almighty roar of applause brought me back to my senses. The lights returned to their former brightness and I looked away from the daring stranger, conscious that the crowd was on the move. The dance floor, its garish, swirling colours and strobe lights back in action, quickly filled up. The music returned to the steady, whining dance tunes, the tempo ideal for the grinding moves of the drunken, horny masses. The performance podium was again in darkness, the spotlights extinguished.

Tara and Brunette had gone and when I looked back, so had the girl. I rested against the wall, too stunned to move. Did that really happen?

“Miss. Come with me.”

I flinched when a deep, heavily accented voice boomed in my ear and a large, padded hand gripped my shoulder. A security man – buttoned tuxedo, perfect straight tie, shoes shiny enough to see my face in – stood in front of me.

“This way, please.”

“What have I done?” I asked, confused.

The man didn’t answer, merely held out his hand, indicating that I should accompany him. With a hand on the small of my back, he guided me through the club, parting the sea of revellers as we went.

“In there,” he said politely but curtly. He pointed to a door with a red no-entry sign on it. “Please.” He blocked my path, gesturing insistently.

Against my better judgment, I pushed the door and stepped into a quiet flourescent-lit corridor.

“Melanie! Oh my God, it is you.” I was flung backward by a figure crashing into me, arms flying around my neck. “Oh, Mel… What are you doing here?”

Tara. Dressed in a fluffy white robe, her heavy make-up gaudy in the unforgiving strip light, her warm smile and dimples were exactly as I remembered.

“My Mel…” A tear rolled down her cheek and, reaching out, I brushed it away. She tittered awkwardly, then took my hand and squeezed it. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Me too.” A lump in my throat, I croaked, “I’ve found you.” I pulled her close, hugged her as tightly as I had the day she’d set off on her travels around Europe. “I’ve been so worried, I didn’t know where—”

“Yeah, I know.” Tara tensed. She eased from my arms and glanced around, eyes flitting left and right. “You shouldn’t be here. I sent Jakub to get you ’cos I had to know if it was really you but,” she took a step back, “you have to go now.”

“No.” I clutched her hands. “No way, not yet.”

“I can see you tomorrow.” Dimples pitted her cheeks again. “Is that possible? You’ll still be here, won’t you?” Her smile wavered.

“Yes, I will. I’m here ’till Sunday morning.”

“Right. Good.” She inhaled. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, catch-up properly?”

I nodded. “If you like.”

“Yes. Oh, Mel… I missed you.”

“I missed you t—”

“Not now.” Tara tensed again. “One o’clock in the café next door but one to this place. The big café with the glass frontage, not the tiny one on the other side. Okay?”

I opened my mouth to answer but she hauled open the door and hustled me out.

“One o’clock, see you there. Bye.”

The door closed abruptly, again separating me from my sister. Relieved to have found her – disappointed to have found her here – I stepped back into the throbbing heart of Euphoria.

I’ve done what I came to do. Time to go…

I weaved toward the exit, progress hampered by the crowd. Glancing sideways as I avoided another collision, I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall. I looked as confused as I felt; a half-smile, half-frown pulled at my features. I stopped, stared forward. A group of noisy Hens danced in my path. With hips gyrating and arms waving, they squealed and hugged as they writhed to the beat without a care in the world.

I watched them. I envied them. I’d had my share of drunken nights out, even had a handful of one night stands, but I’d never let go like these people, never embraced the thrill of a wild night at a strip club or anywhere this raunchy. The Student Union bar, my regular haunt, seemed like a Sunday school disco compared to this. I couldn’t help wondering what would happen if I stayed, if I had a few drinks and loosened up? Could I act like them?

No. Probably not. A knot tightened in my stomach and suddenly desperate to leave, I pushed past the Hens and strode for the exit with renewed determination. I collected my belongings from the beaming, white-toothed cloakroom girl and ran up the stairs.

Outside, the bitter chill cut through me like a knife. Shuddering, I buttoned my coat, secured my gloves and, waving furiously, flagged down a taxi. As it slowed, I paused to catch my breath.

Well, I’ve found her… Now what?

***

Some things hadn’t changed; punctuality had never been Tara’s forte and still wasn’t. The time was ten past one according to my watch and the digital display on my phone concurred. Growing impatient, I twirled my coffee mug by the handle and told myself she’d be here soon. She’d better be.

I sat back, collecting my thoughts. The shock of finding Tara performing in a strip club had faded somewhat overnight, supplanted by the joy of seeing her again. I’d found her. I’d actually found her. But her current tardiness made me nervous. What if she’d run again? She’d seemed pleased see me at the club yet had shooed me away with barely a word. Still perplexed as to why she’d severed communication in the first place, I couldn’t be sure she’d keep our appointment.

I checked the door, peered out the windows, but there was no sign of her. Trying not to fret, I unlocked my phone and flicked to the messages. I scrolled to a thread some way down the list and studied a text with a photo attached: Tara in Prague. It was a photo I’d spent many hours contemplating. The message had arrived in early November, two more texts following shortly after. At the end of the thread were my replies – dozens of them - all unanswered, the latter ones unread. I frowned. Why had Tara done that? Had she lost her phone? Had it been stolen? It was one of many questions I wanted to ask her, one of the conundrums I needed answered.

I zoomed in on Tara’s face, studying her familiar lines. Always a good girl, she was studious and cautious. Exhibiting herself in a strip club was wildly out of character. In fact, when I thought about it, everything Tara had done in the last six months was unexpected – her decision to go inter-railing straight after her ‘A’ levels, abandoning the trip to work in a bar in Nice, her failure to return home in September. She’d passed up an unconditional place at Oxford University. Quite why I couldn’t fathom. She’d always talked about going there and worked hard for it.

I put the phone down and stared into space. Questions… so many questions. My parents hadn’t heard any more from Tara than I had. They’d been all set to file a missing person report when her Christmas card arrived. Sparkly and bright, it featured an aerial photograph of Prague’s picturesque Christmas markets inside a frame of Christmas trees and glitter. Three words were written inside: Happy Christmas, Tara. The handwriting was hers: readable, but with uneven letters and wonky ascenders. Clever and accomplished, Tara had the scrawling scribble of a ten-year-old.

The Christmas card proved Tara was alive and, presumably in Prague, but nothing more. And it’s all we got. One card. No texts, no emails, nothing on social media. It did little to alleviate my worries and her failure to make contact on New Year’s Eve was the final straw. I booked the first available flight to Prague, my mission to find her.

Come on, Tara, don’t let me down.

I slipped the phone back into my bag and tapped a finger against my coffee mug. The café, next-door but one to Euphoria, as Tara had said, was rather lovely with high ceilings, polished oak floor and whitewashed walls decorated with art-work. In other circumstances, I’d have found it enchanting. It was subdued compared to the rest of Prague which still bustled with post-Christmas excitement. In here, the Christmas decorations were gone and baristas served with unhurried serenity. The clientele was a mixture of all ages in groups, couples and families. Sipping coffee and eating pastries, they chatted politely while comparing bargains gleaned on the second to last day of the Christmas markets.

These weren’t the people I’d met last night, none of them were the horny, alcohol fuelled louts who’d guzzled beers and ogled my sister on stage.

That podium… I shuddered. Thinking about Tara’s new job sickened me. Yet, I’d been stirred by my experience in the club, even aroused by it. The image of Tara’s gorgeous brunette partner wouldn’t leave my mind, and as for my imaginings about the chocolate-eyed girl who’d fingered herself…ooh. Heat simmered in my core as I recalled the look in those eyes when she came, and how she’d moaned. I moaned softly, as she had, then, remembering where I was, I straightened my shoulders and checked my watch again. One twenty.

Come on, Tara.

My latte, half drunk, was stone cold. I tilted the contents, watching the skin of milk wrinkle. Disgusted, I pushed it away.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

It was Tara’s voice and I looked up to find her in front of me, cheeks red from the cold.

“Have you been here long?” She tugged at her woollen scarf.

“No, not long,” I lied.

“That’s good.”

Tara flashed her warm, dimpled smile, unbuttoned her coat and sat. She was dressed in casual black slacks and an enormous fluffy jumper patterned with swirls and knitted from mismatched scraps of wool. She pulled off a red bobble hat, blonde hairs sticking up with static electricity, then flipped her long plaits over her shoulders. She peered at my cup with its rancid contents.

“Want another? They do an excellent hot chocolate.” She talked brightly, smiling as she spoke and her face, devoid of make-up, looked fresh and young.

“That sounds good. Thank you.”

“Okey-dokey. Back in a tick.”

She’d only just sat and was straight back on her feet again. I watched her trot to the serving counter and join the queue. She still looked and acted like the sister I knew, twirling her braids and fidgeting impatiently. I smiled when I saw her bite her nails: something she’d always done when made to wait.

My little sister… I puffed out my cheeks. How could sweet, innocent Tara be the same girl I’d seen in Euphoria? I tilted my head and squinted as I watched her smile before placing her order. I tried to see the shameless, smirking performer who’d basked in the spotlight with the brunette, but I couldn’t see her at all.

“Everything all right?” Tara asked when she returned. “Here, you’ll love this.” She placed a steaming hot chocolate in front of me, marshmallows and cream floating on top.

“Looks fabulous,” I said, lifting the mug. I breathed in the delicious aroma but didn’t drink.

Tara hesitated. “This is going to be awkward, isn’t it?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.” I tapped Tara’s chair to encourage her to sit. “I just don’t understand… What happened?”

Sighing, she sank into her seat. She sat back, legs crossed. “I work at the club out of choice, you know. Elodie and I enjoy it.”

“Elodie?”

“The pretty brunette, no clothes?” Tara leaned forward. “Remember her?”

That brunette? Did I ever. “Right. Your performance partner.”

“Performance?” Tara smiled. “You make it sound like a ballet recital. It’s a lesbian sex show.”

“It’s still a performance.” I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Anyway, Elodie…”

“She’s my girlfriend.”

“Oh…” My jaw fell slack. “Your – ouch!” Suddenly aware that my hot chocolate was burning my hand, I put it down, spilling cream over the side in my haste.

“You’re shocked.” Tara sat back again, arms folded. “I was afraid of that.”

“I’m not shocked.” I shook my head vigorously. “Surprised. I’m surprised that’s all. I didn’t know…” My eyebrows knitted. “Why didn’t I know?”

“That I like girls?” Unfolding her arms, Tara cupped her chocolate. “Always have, always will.” She sipped, wiping cream from her lips with a fingertip.

I blinked at her. “You never said.”

“Wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”

“What d’you mean?” I watched her shrug, saw her right eyebrow twitch… The penny dropped like a hammer blow. “You think I’m homophobic?”

Again, Tara shrugged.

“Why would you think that?”

“Mum and Dad are, so…”

“Mum and Dad? They’re old-fashioned, they’ve got some funny ideas but—”

“They’re homophobic.” Tara’s eyes narrowed as she spoke. She leaned forward. “They threatened to throw me out of the house when I told them.”

“They what?”

“Told me to get out.”

“When?”

“Last summer, not long before my exams. Girls don’t fall in love with girls, it’s unnatural,” she said, mimicking our mother’s voice. She shook her head. “I knew they wouldn’t like it but I thought they’d support me, you know? Anyway, I couldn’t find somewhere else to live, could I? So I said it was a ‘phase’ and buggered off out of their house as soon as my exams were over.”

“I had no idea.” I reached out, touched her hand, but she whisked it away. “Why didn’t you say something when I came home? You saw me, talked to me before you went travelling. Why didn’t you…”

Tara sat back, her mouth twisted. “So you’re okay with me having a girlfriend?”

“Of course.”

“You’re sure?” She eyed me suspiciously. “You’re so like Mum and Dad, I thought…”

“No. I’m not like that.” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that my smattering of sexual partners had been both male and female but the words remained locked inside my head, refusing to emerge. I’ve never voiced it, never said the word bisexual, and, it appeared, I wasn’t ready now. “I’m not so okay with you shagging your girlfriend on stage.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Tara cracked a smile. “Okay, I can see why you’re worried, but don’t be. We’re safe, the money’s good and I get a real kick out of it. Honestly, I do.” Her eyes glinted. “I never thought I’d ever do anything so outrageous, it’s thrilling. And it’s easy with Elodie. You’ve no idea how much she turns me on.”

I have some idea. “Did you…” I coughed. “Did you meet her here?”

“No, in Nice. She’s the reason I stayed there.”

“Oh?” I narrowed my eyes. “So were you stripping there too?”

“No.” Tara giggled. “Elodie did it at weekends but I met her in a café. Lovely place, near the beach. She waited tables there at lunchtimes and got me a job.” She wrinkled her nose. “Fun times. Amazing sex. Have you ever had sex on the beach? And I don’t mean the cocktail,” she added with a wink. Her smile wavered. “Am I embarrassing you.”

“No.” I paused. “Okay, a little,” I admitted. “I’m not used to…” I flapped my hand, “this. This sort of talk.”

Tara grimaced but I could tell she was amused. She’d pulled the same mock apologetic face as a child. “It was Elodie’s idea to spend Christmas in Prague. She’d heard it was beautiful and it is, don’t you think?”

“It does have a fairy-tale quality.”

“Doesn’t it? We worked here at first.” Tara patted the table.

“Here? In this café?”

She nodded. “We didn’t plan to work in a strip club but Euphoria was hiring and the pay’s really good.”

“It’s not all about money, though, is it?” My words came out harsher than I’d intended and Tara recoiled. I drew a breath and looked her in the eyes. “Big step, from serving coffee to simulating sex in front of strangers.”

“Simulating?” Tara’s lips twitched. “I know it sounds radical but Elodie’s an exhibitionist when it comes to sex and we’d had sex in public loads of times. Might as well be paid for it.”

“It’s not quite the same.”

Tara smirked. “It’s a means to an end, not my dream job. Although…” Her smile widened. “Only kidding. We’re going traveling again at the end of the month. Berlin, I think.” She leaned forward again, eyes sparkling. “There’re so many amazing places out there and I want to see as many as possible before I start at Oxford.”

“Oxford?” I sat up. “You’re going?”

“Of course. You didn’t think I’d pass up that chance, did you? Uh-uh.” Tara wagged a finger. “I deferred for a year, I’m going in September. On my terms: no hand-outs from Mum and Dad, no entering a profession of their choice at the end of it.” She rolled her eyes. “No contact with them at all, if I can help it. And yes, I might work in a strip club to subsidise my studies.” She grinned. “Why not? It’d be an interesting way to meet my new lecturers.”

Indeed it would. I watched her – the casual flick of her hand as she talked, the defiant glint in her eyes. “What about Elodie?” I asked.

“Hmm… I’d like her to come with me but,” Tara shrugged, “I don’t think she will.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I guess I’m fine with it. Life’s an adventure, you know? No commitments, no strings. And what about you? Any plans after graduation?”

I thought before answering. “Get a job?”

“What! Is that it?” Tara tut-tutted. “Melanie, really, that’s shocking. You need to plan an adventure, live a bit.”

I lowered my head, swirled my chocolate.

“Come on,” she said, brightly. “Drink up.”

“Why?”

“Because you fly home tomorrow and I want to show you around before you go. By the way,” she said, “how did you find me? I meant to ask earlier but I was late, and…you know.”

I rummaged for my phone. “This.” I clicked on her message, held up the picture. “I showed it around. I hoped you were still here and someone might recognise you.”

“You asked around? Literally asked?”

“Anyone and everyone. Bit of a long shot but, hey, it worked. An artist on George Bridge said you passed him every day heading for this part of town. Then a girl in a bar just down there,” I pointed to the street beyond, “said she was pretty sure you worked at Euphoria.”

“So you came inside to check.” Tara smiled. “You’re braver than I thought.” She offered me her arm. “Come on, sis, let me show you the sights.”

***

It was déjà vu: bitterly cold, snow in the air and me, wrapped up in my winter woollies, standing outside Euphoria. But this time, my belly was warm with vodka, I’d dressed for the occasion, and I wanted to be there.

I was no longer the anxious person desperately seeking Tara; I’d found her and the time we’d spent together convinced me she hadn’t changed as much as I’d feared. My sweet sister had laughed and joked as she showed me the famous Prague landmarks and guided me around the Christmas markets. She’d treated me to food I’d never heard of and bought me hand-crafted curios to take home. Then we watched the boats cruising along the wide, slow river, and stopped to admire the portrait artists on George Bridge.

As the daylight faded, we took selfies on the hill beside the castle, the light of Prague behind us. She was still the same Tara, the fun-loving, bubbly girl I’d grown up with. Well, almost… I didn’t expect her to take me to a gay bar when I said I’d like a drink, but she did. She walked in like she owned the place, ordered vodka shots then told me stories of nights out with Elodie; of drinking, dancing on the tables, and sex. I guess she was testing me? I’m not sure.

She asked if I minded before taking me to her favourite fetish shop. The place was interesting but more eye-opening than enjoyable. While Tara chatted to the tattooed, pierced proprietor, I inspected the clothes. Most were truly shocking, like the leather outfit Tara wore on stage. Some were nice, pretty – more risqué than anything in my wardrobe, but the urge to be daring made me want to buy something. I settled on a plain black top, black mesh: totally transparent when it caught the light. Perfect for clubbing.

…And here I was, outside Euphoria, wearing it. I hugged my coat around me.

“The club’s a laugh,” Tara had said, shortly before we parted. “I’m performing again tonight so come and see me, yeah? I’ll put you on the VIP list.”

The idea appealed – not seeing Tara perform, but revisiting Euphoria. I was itching to see the topless waitresses with their bouncing breasts and hard nipples. I wanted to watch the lusty loud-mouthed Stags and stare at the erections tenting their trousers. I wanted to see Elodie.

“Wear your new top, slap some make-up on, and have a few drinks,” Tara had said. “Go wild.”

At nineteen, Tara was two years younger than me but her experience of life was broader, her confidence greater. That wasn’t right. Okay, so I was never going to be as brazen as her, but to feel uncomfortable simply going to Euphoria? That was silly.

I stared at the double glass doors with almost as much trepidation as I had the night before, but not quite. A little of Tara’s daring must have rubbed off on me. I counted to three and stepped forward.

“VIP?” I asked the black-suited man-mountain guarding the door. He waved an arm, gesturing to a small kiosk inside the cramped lobby.

The girl behind the counter shot me a saccharine smile. “You want to buy drinks pass?” Her voice, low and heavily accented, was equally sugary.

“No, I’m on the VIP list. Melanie Davies. Guest of Tara Davies.”

“Okay.” The girl reached under the counter, pulled out a clipboard and trailed a red, polished fingernail down a list of names. Nodding, she handed me a bright pink wristband. “This will get you three free drinks – any drink – and front row seats for the shows. Enjoy.”

I slipped the band on. The drinks were welcome; I wasn’t sure about the front row seats. On slightly trembling legs, I descended the stairs and re-entered the throbbing, sex-filled heart of Euphoria. At the cloakroom, I slid off my coat but uncertainty made me pause before shedding my jumper. I glanced around nervously. The lights would cut straight through my new top and the bra beneath was lace – why had I chosen that? The combination of flimsy materials had seemed like a good idea back in my hotel room, but now…

“Okay,” I muttered. “You’re here, so get on with it.”

I quickly wriggled out of my jumper and deposited it in the cloakroom before I could change my mind. Smoothing down my hair, I marched towards the flashing lights, the noise and the mayhem, my heart fluttering with anticipation.

A muscular waiter brushed passed my right shoulder. Skin glistening with oil, he carried a full tray of precariously balanced drinks, while weaving deftly between the crowd. I eyed his bulging biceps then dropped my gaze to his taut buttocks. Thoughts of fucking leaped into my mind: twisted sheets, hard cocks and testosterone.

Or, perhaps, a night with one, or both, of the flexible, athletic pole dancers? What couldn’t they do in bed?

I craned my neck, looking for them. Yes! There they were, flying around the poles like exotic birds. I watched transfixed, but my thoughts drifted when I caught sight of my reflection. I stared at the mirror on the wall and ran my hands over my new top and down over my hips. The twin hills of my cleavage wobbled when I moved, my diamanté navel stud glinted temptingly. Even my old black leggings and trusty ankle boots didn’t look out of place.

I fluffed the shoulder length, blonde curls. From a distance, I looked like Tara; I was curvier, my hair shorter, and my face rounder but our facial features were remarkably similar. My make-up was far subtler than Tara’s but it looked good. I looked sexy. All I needed was her confidence.

Thinking a drink might help, I joined the queue at the mid-section of the bar away from the crowds encircling the pole dancers. While I waited, I watched the girls twirl, their glittered skin throwing out pinpricks of light like a human mirror ball, hair fluttering behind like a flag. I imagined being closer: inhaling their scent, feeling the heat radiating from their contorting bodies. Images of a tussling threesome stormed my mind and played with my sex. Heat built in my pussy; I quivered as I felt a gentle throb.

“Yes?” The glossy-lipped bartender stared at me, head tilted, eyebrows arched.

Panicked, I scanned the rows of optics then I asked for a Black Russian – the only cocktail I could think of. I flashed my wristband and, drink in hand, tried to find a place to sit but it was impossible. I stood awkwardly at the edge of the dance floor, protecting my drink from the jostling throng.

Tara was nowhere to be seen. The ‘circus’ podium was in darkness, the surrounding chairs, neatly arranged and empty. Good. Much as I longed to see Elodie’s racy strutting and preening, watching her meant watching Tara. I shook my head, face scrunched. There are some things sisters shouldn’t share and I resolved to leave the second I heard Tara’s music.

But not yet, please. I stared at the stage. Stay dark. Don’t make me leave yet.

Like the previous night, there were numerous groups of outrageously dressed Stags cavorting on the dance floor and clutches of Hens strutting their stuff in even skimpier clubbing gear. More of them, in fact. Of course… it’s Saturday. I’d read that weekends in Prague were wilder with even more would-be brides and grooms letting off steam after a day spent tank driving, paintballing, or one of the many thrill-seeking activities offered.

The chocolate-eyed girl with the ‘L’ plate wasn’t there. Shame. I’d like to have seen her again. I might have responded differently a second time – might have moved closer, touched her… kissed her? And then what? Would she have used her dextrous fingers on me, touched my pussy, stroked me, rubbed my sensitive little nub? Would she have made me come in the shadows, or lured me away to her hotel room to fuck me with abandon? I sizzled at the notion. Her, this place, it all turned me on.

Drink drained, I started back toward the bar when the abrupt fading of the music stopped me in my tracks. No! I watched the lights dip and spotlights flare on Tara’s podium. My instincts screamed at me to run but, biting my lip, I waited.

Music... Not theirs. Thank goodness. Flapping hot cheeks, I watched a lone female step into the spotlight, her curvaceous figure snaking to the dirty beat of a sultry R&B track. Her movements were fluid, as free-flowing water, her rounded arse writhing inside a tight red dress, enormous boobs straining to escape the corset top. I edged closer. Then, remembering my VIP status, I made the bold move of pushing through the crowd. I held up my wristband and slipped into a seat next to the stage.

The girl was so close I could smell her vanilla body butter and floral perfume. Her caramel skin, flawless and lustrous in the light, gleamed as she danced. My fingers twitched as I imagined its texture and warmth beneath my fingertips. I clenched my thighs when moisture seeped into my panties.

The girl unzipped her skirt and peeled it off in time to the music. As she dropped it to the floor, her huge doe eyes met mine. A half smile flickered on her full, red lips and her gaze momentarily dropped to my cleavage. I blushed, I actually blushed and, noticing, the girl let out a light, tinkling giggle before lifting her gaze to her wider audience. She scanned the upturned faces, her sexy smile, her curves, seducing all. Then, with a flourish, she untied her corset top and let it fall.

More skin on display, and she was my kind of beautiful: undulating curves and rounded belly, long black hair tumbling in waves. She slowly, teasingly, removed her panties and tossed them to a grateful Stag in the second row. I glared as he held them to his nose and inhaled deeply. Not fair. I wanted to do that. I wanted to drink in her scent and own something of her.

Naked, the girl strutted and danced, inviting her audience to want her, need her, fuck her in their minds. She fondled bountiful breasts and lingered on bullet-hard nipples. I could see every bump and imagine how they’d feel against my tongue, and how she’d moan if I sucked them. She dipped her hands lower…over her belly, onto her shaved mons. Hips twisting to the grinding beat, she paused and then parted her labia and slowly stroked her slit. Turning, mischief in her eyes, she held the finger to the light. It glistened with juices.

I never dreamed she’d offer that finger to me but when she did, I sucked it eagerly into my mouth. Oh, God… Her juices melted over my tongue, sweet as honey. I sucked hard, wincing when the finger was snatched away and the girl, winking, scooped up her clothing, took a bow and departed.

The podium lights were doused and the music changed. As the general lighting increased, I sat in a daze. I could still taste her, smell her… desperately horny, I looked for the ‘Ladies’, intending to lock myself into a stall and rub myself to orgasm. I needed release and it would be so good. Blissful. Spotting a sign at the far end of the room, I took a direct route across the dance floor. Bodies buffeted me. Skin touched mine.

My path was abruptly blocked by an impenetrable wall of girls. Identically dressed in T-shirts stretched taut over boobs, I made out the name Anya among the foreign words beneath a badly printed photo of laughing faces and raised champagne flutes. A dark-haired girl stood directly in front of me. Making eye contact, she touched my top, fingering the mesh, then said something I couldn’t hear let alone understand. Moistening her lips, she beckoned and began dancing. Curvy hips swaying, she drew closer and slid an arm around my neck, whispering unintelligible words soft as melting butter. Her breath smelled of vodka but her skin was lavender; sweet and fresh as a summer’s day.

I did my best to dance but a combination of surprise and having two left feet, left me floundering. The girl, eyes shining, draped a second arm around me and pushed her body against me. Her breasts brushed mine, her hands wandered. Taken aback by her advances, I fought the urge to shy away, fought it hard. This girl liked me, wanted me and, with the burning ache in my core growing, I wanted her.

Be brave. I held my breath and kissed her lips. Ahh… She was wet, warm, her velvet mouth open to allow my tongue to probe inside. My pussy ached most deliciously as I kissed her deeply but whoops and sniggers shattered the moment. Her group crowded around: eyes wide, arms waving, tongues wagging. Alarmed, I backed away but the girl continued to clasp my hand, fingers interwoven with mine. She nudged me playfully, and smiling broadly, gestured to the bar.

“Drink? O-oh, yes,” I stammered, unnerved by our audience. “Okay.”

I followed her, grateful to escape the mocking Hens. I let the girl order then held up my wristband when two chilled beers were handed over. The barmaid obligingly scanned it and my dark-haired admirer gave a nod of thanks. She handed me a bottle, clinked hers to mine then, clasping my free hand, led me toward a dark corner with a vacant leather seat big enough for two. The girl swigged beer then, sitting, stowed the bottle where it wouldn’t be kicked. She looked at me, waiting.

Here goes… Stowing my drink, I leaned in and kissed her. It’s what she wanted, it’s what I needed and there were no distractions this time, no watchers to hold me back. I kissed her deeply, probed my tongue into every inch of her mouth while raking my fingers through her luscious dark hair. Our breasts squished together, my nipples hard and tingly. Grasping the girl's hands, I placed them firmly on my mounds. I quivered when she fondled them. She stroked them tenderly and gently pinched my nipples, soft moans and words like treacle accompanying her delicate finger work. Then she slid her hands down my abdomen and eased fingers inside my leggings.

I gasped. I wanted more, wanted to feel those fingers inside my pussy. Whimpering softly, I parted my thighs.

“Yes, touch me,” I said breathily, my desire unmistakable in any language.

Gazing at me, lips slightly parted, the girl slid her hand beneath my panties and touched my clit. Touched my clit. She watched my reaction, murmured something then, eyes widening, pushed two fingers deep inside me.

Oh. My. God. The girl wasn’t gentle anymore. She drove her fingers deep, fast, fucking me hard. Her thrusts were rhythmical, fingers smoothly lubricated by my liberally flowing juices. She leaned in as she worked, her breath on my cheek, long hair brushing my skin. God, she felt good.

I pushed against her thrusts, back arched. I’d never done anything like this, never experienced the thrill of illicit public sex or the dirty pleasure of fucking a girl whose name I didn’t know and it felt so good, so fucking good. Now I understood how the chocolate-eyed girl had felt when she’d masturbated in front of me. And Tara…

I wanted to come, needed release. Spasms raced through my body and, sensing my impending climax, the girl whispered something soft and low. Ahh… My pussy clenched hard, gripping the girl’s fingers and coating them with slick cream. Shaking, I cried out my pleasure, not caring if I was loud. Let my moans be heard, let my actions be seen – it didn’t matter. All inhibitions fled as I juddered to the waves of blissful release.

The girl, looking smug, withdrew her fingers from my depths and sucked them one by one. Done, she smacked her lips together then kissed me, letting me taste myself on her tongue. When she drew back, she looked at me with a roguish smirk. The smile grew wider as she pushed me downward. Oh my goodness. I knew what she wanted even before she flipped up her skirt. And no panties. Kneeling, I watched her stroke her shaved mons then spread her thighs, pussy lips parting to reveal beads of moisture.

Yes. The invitation couldn’t have been clearer. Hungry for her, I dipped between her legs and licked her wet slit, lapping and slurping with the same urgency with which she’d fingered me. Ooh… her juices were sweet and sticky. I lapped the length of her slit, probed her clit with the tip of my tongue. She was open, inviting, so I pushed inside, eating her. I flicked her clit and, feeling her squirm, rubbed her with one hand while plunging the other inside my leggings to pleasure myself.

I rubbed my nub and hers, all the time concentrating on licking her slit. She quivered, tensed, and, knowing I was bringing her to the edge, my pussy contracted. I hit my second orgasm as she reached her first. We shook like rag dolls, bodies twitching, grunts and groans indecently loud; quite a spectacle, I imagine, to anyone watching, anyone listening. I didn’t care. Coming down, I collapsed on to her lap. I sighed when she stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head. A tender moment but short lived.

Giggles made my ears prickle then came voices close by, laughter, a shrill cry. The girl moved abruptly, dislodging me. She hastily adjusted her skirt while I scrambled to my feet. Four girls surrounded us – Hens wearing the same T-shirt as my lover. They gawked at us with wide, laughing eyes. One of them applauded. My skin flared hot but my lover took my hand and squeezed it. She kissed my forehead, caressed my cheek with the back of a hand and, fluttering her fingers, departed with her friends.

I stared after her, watching the crowd swallow her. My thoughts raced and, suddenly nervous, I glanced around. No smirking faces turned my way, no eyes bored into me, but still, I backed further into the corner. And when the music dipped again, the unmistakable refrain of Tara’s show music blasting out, it was time to go.

I’d done more in one night than I ever dreamed possible, behaved in a way I’d never even contemplate – and I’d loved it. But my insecurities hadn’t fled very far and the thought of seeing Tara on stage again was still too much… I headed for the exit, retrieved my coat and jumper and trotted up the neon-lit stairs to the frozen Christmas-card landscape beyond.

Enough. I was done.

***

My suitcase squealed as I hauled it down the narrow hotel corridor, moving as fast as I could. At the lift, I pressed the call button and the doors slid open with barely a pause. Good. I was late and planes didn’t generally wait.

“Please let there be a taxi,” I muttered as the lift doors closed.

Catching my breath, I rested my head against a lift wall. Goodbye Prague. What a journey this had been. Finding Tara and reaffirming our sisterly bond, had brought relief beyond measure. Yet, I’d still tossed and turned all night, my mind unsettled. I couldn’t stop thinking about Euphoria: what happened there, who I’d become for a brief moment. I liked anxiety-free ‘me’; I liked the carefree, shameless girl who’d had sex with a stranger in the shadows of the club. I wanted to be her again and, frankly, what was stopping me?

Lightheaded, heart all aflutter, I mulled over that notion. But, as the lift slowed, my thoughts returned to more pressing sombre matters. University started again in twenty-four hours and the term ahead, the build-up to my final exams, would be hard. But after graduation… Tara was right, I needed a more exciting goal than ‘get a job’. Smiling, I slowly shook my head.

“No, no, no, Melanie,” I said aloud. “Prague, Euphoria, Elodie… they’re Tara’s adventure, not mine. But the tingling in my sex didn’t stop. Nor did I want it to.

When the lift doors opened, I clattered across the white tiled lobby, suitcase shrieking in protest. I was on the street and frantically flagging a taxi when I heard my name called.

“Melanie, Mel…Wait!”

Tara charged toward me, arms outspread, bobble hat flopping, scarf flying.

“Babe, I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye,” she cried, flinging herself upon me. “I didn’t see you at the club last night.”

“I was there,” I said hugging her tight. “You wanted me there, so I was.”

“Really?”

Releasing my hold, I brushed a wayward wisp of hair away from her face. “Yes, I’d do anything for you.”

“Thank you,” she said, sheepishly.

“My pleasure. Actually, I enjoyed it and, well, I—” The taxi driver pipped his horn and I held up a hand. “One moment, okay. One,” I repeated, catching his eye. I turned back to Tara. “I have to go, sorry. Look after yourself, yes? And don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Tears filled Tara’s eyes but she flicked them away. “Thank you for caring.”

“Of course I care.” I squeezed her shoulder. “And Prague’s… erm, I mean being here with you has… Well, it’s me that needs to thank you.”

“Thank me? Why?” Watching me intently, Tara arched her eyebrows, a saucy smirk tugging at her lips. “Melanie… what happened last night?”

I smiled, my dimples as deep as my sister’s, and winked. I didn’t need words.