This was not the first time that Lady Jane had squirted over me as she came. The exciting aroma of her juices filled my nostrils and was, I suspected, already mingling with my own increasing moistness. I had to do something about that, right now.
I wandered through the maze of passageways and linked rooms which made up the Club's lower floor until I reached the wet area: a variety of pools and hot tubs, almost everywhere running with water. The low light level, patchy and flickering, added to the ambience, being chiefly illuminated by what someone from the Dark Ages of the Twentieth Century might have assumed were candles. Everywhere one looked, sexy people were enjoying each other's company, in two and threes and larger groups.
I found an unoccupied shower cubicle at the edge of the area and slipped inside. It was the work of just a few minutes to give myself a couple of willy-nillys. I stood in the shower, water turned off, rubbing Lady Jane's juices into both of my cunts with my fingertips. As I relished the smell of her on my body, I wondered what it would be like to enjoy more intimate moments with that blonde ice-queen.
As I masturbated furiously, I sagged to the stall floor, opening my legs as wide as its confines would let me. My heat first burst out from between my legs, spreading rapidly upwards. it was only as the quivering of my second orgasm subsided - from the vagina between my breasts - that I realized that I had been closely watched through the semi-transparent door of the shower stall.
I grinned, waving at my unidentified admirer, beckoning them - whoever they were - to join me. I could just make out a sorry-looking shake of the head and then the observer vanished into the dimness of the room.
Sighing, I turned on the water and showered off quickly, before drying myself in the hot air from the built-in blower. Stepping out of the stall, I slipped back into my uniform. The shortest of miniskirts and the sleeveless bolero jacket had little to do with covering me up; it was more as a means of identifying members of the Club staff.
As I dressed, I could see two slender men kissing luxuriously while immersed in the bubbling water of a nearby hot tub. One was sitting on some submerged ledge or seat, while the other stood, legs braced, bending over to hold his friend gently on each side of the face.
The Club runs the bubble jets in the tubs almost all the time. I knew that stimulating impacts of the agitated water was found to be pleasurable by many people, although it also has the desirable side effect of allowing the automation to move more quickly under water without being seen.
The couple in the hot tub was being assisted by another Club employee I knew as Alan. He was only interested in Norm men and Types with a distinctly male aspect, a disability known technically, I'm told, as homosexuality.
Alan and I had had a conversation about this one quiet evening. He agreed that being interested in only one sex reduced his opportunity to encounter entertaining partners. He knew this, intellectually, but insisted that there was something ineradicable inside him which found the more feminine forms much less attractive.
At first, I was surprised that Madame Maxine permitted him to work here, but later I realized that most guests would not even realise, or care, and that he really was very good at understanding precisely what certain sections of the clientele really wanted.
From the urgency with which the two men in the hot tub continued to embrace one another, and the increasing tensions visible in their bodies, it was clear that they were enjoying more than just the taste of each other's lips. Curious, I moved closer; looking below the waterline, I could just make out the black shape of some complex machine - possibly more than one - from the Club's arsenal was at work.
It was difficult to make out exactly what was happening through the rioling waters. As far as I could see, two dark flexible tubes had fastened themselves over the cocks of both men, presumably squeezing and stimulating each dick in synchronisation. A further black shape could just be glimpsed under the sitting man's backside, no doubt a throbbing butt-plug. The standing man was being fucked in the ass by Alan.
As I watched, the two guests cried out, grasping each other harder and achieving the simultaneous orgasm they had wanted. Alan politely came too, joining in the fun to everyone's approval. Sometimes the old-fashioned ways are the best, after all.