Berlin and its Darkrooms
00:50 am — Bedroom
“I don’t know what to wear.” With a dull sound the black cardigan hits the floor. She’s standing there, tits out, glowing in the dim light. Perky, well-rounded, full of youth. Her whole body a source of excitement. For a moment, I forget how annoyed I am of our endless debate. All I want is to grab her, bend her over, and fuck out the frustration in front of the closet mirror.
She is looking at me, waiting for a response. “Just wear something you feel sexy in. We’ll put some layers on top, and you won’t be cold.” My eyes crawl over her gooseflesh. Slowly, she bends over, fishing for clothes in the drawer. Her ass cheeks peek out. Snug in that dark red underwear I bought her on Valentine's Day. My mind wanders off once again. She fully knows what those movements do to me and anticipates a reaction. I give in. Get close. Lay my hands onto her. Firm grip. Let her know that I want what she's presenting to me: a never-ending cry for attention.
She turns around, a dress in her hands. Although, the word dress is an overstatement. A barely opaque piece of black fabric that ends just inches below her ass. Two thin shoulder stripes holding it. Hard nipples shining through, long legs exposed, and the hip contours accentuating her flat stomach.
I can’t help but feel a twisted pride, knowing I’ve got that eye candy all to myself. “Like what you see?” she whisper. Playing the innocent little girl, ducking her head and peeking up through her lashes. Our faces only millimeters apart.
I wrap her pigtail around my fingers, savoring the silence. I step back, still in touch with her hair. Lower my arm, give her no choice but to slowly lean forward and get onto her knees. “I like that you need my fucking approval! Changing when I order you to and giving all you have to impress me.” “Of course I do.” she’s whispering, her hands planted on my knees like she’s praying at the altar. “But if you’re not gonna be ready soon, I will have no choice but to forget all of your efforts and take away my goodwill towards you. Do not cause us to be late!”
2:10 am — Wardrobe
Smell. The first sense that I notice at the coat check. A stench of stale Marlboro Gold is battling with fog machine smoke and some sickly sweet perfume. The effort it took to get away from our comfortable bedroom, to enter the dark, cold Berlin night, without a doubt lowered our standards. Just entering the warm club feels like paradise, but objectively, the word cesspool would describe it better.
It’s a goddamn freak show that’s playing out in front of us. A living, breathing manifestation of all the different states people are in. Some just arrived, freshly styled, full of energy and hopes for what this night might bring. They want to look good. Cutouts everywhere, exposed flash peaking through the fabric. Their skin glowing.
Some others, are about to leave. Their expectations either exceeded, satisied, or crushed. But only the latter are prominently recognizable. Creatures who gather around the exit. Still unsure if they should call it a night. Finally give up? Or maybe just another drink, another line, another chance to turn it all around? Instead of makeup, the sleep deprivation casts a dark shadow under their eyes. Extensive drug usage has dehydrated their skin. Lifeless, with bright red irritations. What used to provoke lust, now only looks cheap and used. Like a toy, that was handed down with marks and scratches, ready to be disposed.
I can feel how they lay eyes on us. On the hunt for fresh souls who've just entered the club. New joiners, full of energy from which they might nourish. But we’re not that naive. I watch as my girl peels off her layers, drawing hungry stares. I slide my hand from her neck to her ass. She flashes me a smile and hands her jacket to the dead-eyed clerk, who couldn’t care less.
It’s this twisted dance at the wardrobe, which is setting the tone for the night. I don’t want to arrive at a high polished and clean place. But at the same time it shouldn’t be too fucked up. It’s gotta be in balance, or the whole fucking house of cards comes tumbling down. Without this delicate equilibrium of hope and despair right at the entrance, how can anything good come forward?
2:25 am — Smoking Area
Making our way through the tunnel, I recover the small capsules that have been carefully hidden before entering the club. With them tucked away in one hand and a bottle in the other we sit down on a rather distressed-looking couch. But cleanliness is no concern. My mind is focussed on opening up the capsule. The small crystals dissolve in the sweet yellow drink. I lean forward and tensely hold it against one of the few light sources. The red beam turns the liquid brown, and I can watch the crumbs glide down the bottle. A hand goes through my hair and shortly after I feel kisses on my neck. I take the first sip.
Lowering the drink, I begin to carefully examine the people inside the club. With quick and energetic movements they are passing us. Everyone is in a rush. Focusing on themselves. Paired with the dim environment, it’s hard to identify who they really are. Some are topless, some in underwear only. Nipples out in the open, for everyone to lust over. Short little glimpses of eroticism, wherever you're looking.
It’s warm, but with barely any clothes on, I can feel the goose flash that builds up on my girl. I place my hands on her inner thighs, which she instinctively presses together as a small shiver goes through her whole body. Her hard nipples are piercing through the thin fabric and I can feel them gently touching my arm.
Ever so often a single person stops and scans the room. Unclear if they are lost, looking for their friends, or someone new. Obviously under the influence. This serves as a short escape from the real world. Mingling between all of those freaks and outcasts. Don’t we all have that little dark spot within us. The one that is incompatible with our day to day life. The one we hide from society. I know I have one, and the little impatient girl next to me does as well. Maybe today is our lucky day to play it out. I take a sip from the drink, but the sugar can only mask the bitterness by so much.
3:00 am — Dancefloor
A droplet of sweat escapes my armpit, slithering down like a tear. We're dancing, pressed together like two pieces of rotten fruit. My tanktop is already drenched and sticks to my skin. She doesn't care. Leans back, puts her head on my shoulder, neck exposed. The sweat is dripping from her as well and our bodily fluids mix. She tastes salty. The further I burry my tongue in her mouth, the stronger she presses her ass against my hips. The tighter my grip around her throat, fingers tightening one by one, the deeper her fingernails claw into my skin.
We’re in the middle of the dance floor. The smoke machine just blasted its load, leaving us trapped. I slide my hand up her inner thigh, and hers moves up to my ass. I struggle to believe how lucky I am. Finally my mind is at rest. No matter who passes me, how good looking the girl next to me might be… it doesn't matter. I dont care about anyone besides her. She's truly the only person who has ever triggered those kind of feelings within me. It was always about the next one, a new challenge, a new flavour. Until she came around.
Those feelings overwhelm me. A tear is forming in my eyes, but this can not be natural anymore. A rush of warmth explodes in my gut. I can feel how the chemical love hits me and mixes with the deep bass coming from the massive soundsystem. Like waves, every beat elevates my body.
Suddenly, the music stops. Everything slows down, and the room goes dark. The silence shatters with a single piercing note, long and sharp as a needle. It gets broken down, staccato, zzzzz, Zzzzz, Zzzzz… Once a second, then twice, with each burst the smoke tints in a new color. Right when I'm about to loose my mind the bass kicks in. Blowing away the smoke and what’s left of my sanity. I lift my hand from her thigh raising my hands. But not without letting it slide by her slip just a little too long. Resting on her lips. The music is too loud to hear anything. I can only see her mouth slightly opening and the moan escaping. Soft and dirty, cutting through all the chaos.
3:45 am — Hidden Corner
The fucking tension’s killing me. Back home, we had to bail, couldn’t satisfy that itch within us. Now we’ve got all the time in the world, and I couldn’t give two shits about the people around us. I just want her, grab her hand. My head filled with lust. She knows what’s coming. The occasional strobe reveals my twisted grin. We push through the sea of half-naked bodies. Hand on her ass until we reach a steep staircase, plunging into darkness.
Cold air wraps our ankles like we’re wading through a swamp. The stench of wet, green, earthy basement hits us . Cigarette smoke can’t penetrate humid air. What’s left is the reek of sweat — fresh from dancing, stale from fucking. It’s chemical, like glue, from all the drugs seeping out of these wasted bodies. Hushed, moans, grunts, single words, all mix with the banging beat. Pitch-black, it's not called darkroom by chance. I pull her close, feel every curve press against me, her heat through the clothes.
My hands slide over her body. Greed is taking hold of me. I break our kiss, “I want you,” my voice thick with need. She moans, gripping my ass, pulling me closer. My cock’s so hard it hurts. I shove her against the wall, lifting her. She wraps her legs around me, grinding. I spin her around and kiss her neck. Slightly bite into it, point my tongue and drag it from her collar bone up until the back of her ear. Circle it around behind her earlobe, tease her, then force her down onto all fours on a nearby platform.
Her ass is a masterpiece, stretched up towards me. Her dress lifted, exposing her cheeks, with a little black slip peeking through. I massage those briefly, warming up the skin. Then, it's time for the hard spanks. No more games! My hand’s down her pants, fingers on the swollen clit. Slow circling. Her moans grow more desperate by the second. A gasp nearby reminds me we’re not alone. The thought of an audience fuels me. When kissing, I taste sweat, booze, and something else… that bitterness that makes my heart race even faster.
A tap on my shoulder. I turn, squinting in the dark. A man stands next to me. Dark hair, trimmed beard, big pupils. ”Hey, man,” he says, voice deep and smooth. “My boyfriend and I were just admiring you two. Mind if we join next to you?”I hesitate, glancing at my girl. She’s trembling with excitement, nodding slightly. I turn back to him, my voice thick. “Sure” He grins, teeth gleaming in the dark. “Great” he says, voice dripping with desire. Now they are barely a meter away, hands already down each other’s pants.
I walk to the front of the platform. My girl, with her ass up in the air, face pressed into the polster, faces the gay couple next to us. Carefully watches them. Witnesses how they undress each other. One guy on top, he slides down. On his way kisses chest, arms, and pelvis, before he ends up kneeling on the floor with his face buried in the other guy's crotch.
Even though I can feel her glued to the sight of two attractive men enjoying themselves, I grab her hair and pull her up. It’s time to follow their example. With eyes wide open, she stares at me. I place my other hand on her neck and squeeze. She opens her mouth, which makes me move closer, stroking her lips with my tongue before burying it inside her mouth. After this short moment of kindness, she spins around and lies down on her back. Her head on the edge of the platform. She looks at me with excitement, tongue sticking out, waiting for me to fuck her face. Quick eye movements towards the gays next to us. She clearly wants to show off that guys are not the only ones who know how to suck dick.
First kisses, then she starts to slide her tongue all over me. Her spit drips down, coating me, driving me wild with need. She's working me, and the passion in her movements brings me dangerously close to the edge. That kind of effort is all I want to see from her, but I'm not ready just yet.
We switch positions, and I end up on top of her. For a brief moment, we get distracted by the gays next to us. One guy's on all fours, getting pounded like a piece of raw meat. He’s facing us and seeing both our attention shifting towards him, he opens his mouth to moan even louder. This only fuels our own fire, pushing us to put on a show of pure, unadulterated desire.
Each stroke, each kiss gets me closer. I feel my girl's warmth radiating. I look deep into those green eyes of hers, and the words tumble out before I can stop them: "I love you." The rush of endorphins within me is overwhelming, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. My skin begins to burn, and my whole body is shaking. My eyelids feel heavy, fluttering involuntarily before my field of view shrinks. No energy, no strength left, I start to collapse to the left, falling off my girl. The dull thud of my head hitting the floor is the last thing I perceive, but at that point, I don’t feel any pain. Suddenly, everything turns black.
I slowly open my eyes, but only see the surroundings through a haze of blurriness. A dull ache throbs around my temples, and I can taste blood in my mouth. My cheek lies on the cold concrete floor in a mix of spit, cum, and tears. I can feel a light touch on my shoulder. As soon as I lift my gaze I recognize the two guys from before, kneeling next to me, with a worried look on their faces. They carefully grab me under my arms, help me pull up my pants, and put me into a sitting position.
The confused look on my face probably gave me away, but after what feels like an eternity, one of the guys starts talking, “She immediately left when you hit the ground. Quickly walked up the stairs and is for sure getting the staff for help.” “Yes! She’ll surely be here with some medical staff to check on you at any moment.” Silence… “Would it be fine for you if we leave you here for now? Our friends are probably already questioning where we are.“ “Sure, sure…” I reply, only partly listening to their explanations. A last quick smile, a thank you to both of them. I keep sitting there, back against the platform, gazing into the darkness. Five minutes pass. Then ten. My headache gets better, and I decide to pull out my phone; “Where are you?” I slowly type into it. I hesitate for a moment before I press send. But only one gray tick appears.
Purely a fictional Story!
