Sin Twins:
Tina’s vibrator was still merrily buzzing away, buried deeply inside her snatch. The twins had shared the same bedroom until they moved into the townhouse, so they were used to the other’s open pursuit of wanton pleasure.
“Oh, fucking fuck Greg,” she bellowed and moaned simultaneously, trying not to laugh. “What exactly happened, again?”
Tara laughed, speaking through giggles. “Everything was going great, and as soon as the lights dimmed, I pulled up my skirt and started fingering myself.”
“Oh, that’s fucking hot. How did he respond?”
“He just watched me, drooling the entire time, afraid to do anything because there were people seated just a few rows away.”
“Typical man. They always talk the talk, but crumble when it’s go-time. Then what?” She hit the control button on her toy, changing the pattern from a strong, steady hum into a pulsating, random pattern, moaning in response.
“I was so fucking horny that I would have probably gang-banged the entire theater. I got off, twice, and went to open his pants, so I could fuck him.”
“So…um, aaah…far, so good.”
“Then, he panicked and bailed on me. I had to take a ride-share home.”
“We crushed another one! You know what that means.”
“Girls’ night,” they chanted in unison. “Club Ballyhoo!”
They hugged each other, their faces giddy, Tina’s toy sliding out of her horny hole and jumping about on the floor. “Prince Charming, here we come!”
“Pregame,” Tara said, her voice elated, as she dashed to their special snack cupboard. “Two or three?”
“Four!” they shouted together. Tara opened the bag of THC-infused gummies and quickly grabbed eight of them.
“Now, what should we wear?”
They stared at each other, mirror images of the other’s smiling face, then shrilly shrieked, “Slutty togas!”
In less than an hour, the Pumphord twins were off to their favorite club, Club Ballyhoo. While strip clubs that feature women dancers are prolific, ones that cater to women, with muscular, sexy, men dancing, are a rarity. Club Ballyhoo was, among other things, just that sort of club. It was also far more than just hunks dancing around, writhing on women.
The club was inspired by the deluge of male stripper movies over recent years, the first adult entertainment club in the area that primarily catered to women. It was a luxurious bar and grill, a social club, and a safe gathering place where women of every sort could gather to relax, go wild, and enjoy the blessings of being a woman without society’s judgment shaming them.
Owned and operated by women, with armed security patrolling at all times, the Ballyhoo featured fine food and a bevy of both male and female strippers, who catered to almost any sort of pleasure or delight a woman could desire. It was opulent, lavish, luxurious, and very pricey, but worth it.
Tina and Tara seldom went, despite the running, open bet they had at the club. The yearly membership ran close to a thousand dollars, each, and the prices of the food and drink reflected the quality of the wares and service. As Club Ballyhoo was a private club, the standard rules governing sexual contact in public, which are rarely enforced for feminine audiences, anyway, didn’t apply. While all-nude male strippers weren’t the complete focus of the place, they were a main attraction. The dancers all knew that anything was permissible, provided consent was given, and no money was exchanged. Tipping, however, was allowed.
The blond twins were quite popular there; twins tend to get more than double their fair share of attention. Tina and Tara always went to Club Ballyhoo when their victim bailed. If their mark got cold feet, couldn’t handle them, or terminated the game through something else that was no fault of either twin, they treated themselves to a very expensive meal and extremely decadent debauchery. It was also the one place where they still played the matching outfits trick.
The first time they went, they dressed exactly the same and made a big game about the dancers not being able to tell the two of them apart. Other than their deceased mother, nobody, not even their father, could. Ryanna, the hostess and emcee, made it into a running bet. Until the headlining dancer, known as Prince Charming, could tell which twin was which, the twins drank for free, and he had to pay the women’s tab.
That night, the two sisters chose identical, coral-colored, toga dresses that were incredibly sexy. A ruched, single-shoulder wrap, exposing most of their chests and cleavage, the matching dresses were blowsy, more than a little diaphanous, and cut to entice. The rounded hem rose sharply upward, exposing half of one leg and the other one almost completely. In those sexy frocks, the sexy, blond twins were all legs, ass, and tits—just a scant bit of thin, sheer fabric thrown over their delectable flesh.
A long slit up to mid-thigh gave the billowy, ruched fabric extra allure. Wide, sequined belts, all glimmering darkness, gave the pale color some contrast, and they did each other’s makeup to match. Charcoals and other somber colors with some added glitter tied everything together nicely. They eschewed restrictive undergarments for two reasons: they intended on getting wild, and the coral toga dresses were so see-through that the addition of anything beneath them would hinder the slutty vibe of sultry sexiness.
Ryanna gave them a huge introduction when they made their entrance, hyping up the bet, the twins, and their outfits, making all sorts of fanfare. Inside the Ballyhoo, the Pumphord twins were celebrities. The bartender, a loincloth-clad, bare-chested barbarian type, a foam sword slung over his back, had their drinks ready before they’d even made it to the bar. A tray of mixed drinks and tequila shots in hand, the horny blonds grabbed a table in the main dance room, close to the main stage.
The all-male staff dressed to please the female gaze. Chosen for their bodies and sexiness, they were costumed to reflect women’s sexual fantasies made flesh. The obligatory bare chest and bow tie, a sexy policeman, a construction worker, and a secret agent in package-revealing yoga pants and a tuxedo jacket milled about with all the others, serving and servicing the ladies. As always, the place was rowdy and chaotically wild; men may have more strip clubs at their disposal, but women away from husbands, boyfriends, and society’s prying, judgmental eyes are dirtier, far less inhibited, and much more sexually aggressive.
“Hiya, Princess,” the twins chortled to the emcee, one of the owners.
“Double trouble twins in the house,” she announced. “Give it up for Tina and Tara Pump-hard, the hottest double vision you’ll ever see, my queens.” In Club Ballyhoo, every woman was a queen, and every male patron was a King or Queen, depending on their preference.
A waiter, quite the handsome, muscle-bound hunk, wearing chaps, a G-string, cowboy boots, a fringed, brown leather vest, and a cowboy hat, took their dinner order.
“We’ll have the sirloin tips with mixed vegetables and loaded baked potatoes; keep the drinks flowing. For dessert, we’ll have the strawberry whipped cream cans.”
“Excellent choices, my queens. May I do anything else for you lovely ladies?”
“One thing,” Tara yelled. “Don’t move. I want my appetizer.”
The toga-clad nymph jumped off her plush, velvet-covered chair, and sank to her knees before the cowboy-costumed waiter. Groping at his cock through his denim-patterned G-string, she stared up at him, waiting for his permission. The man smiled and nodded, and Tara tore at his sexy thong, grabbing his cock.
“Lookie, lookie,” Ryanna announced. "One of the T-N-T twins is already letting loose. You go, queen. Suck that cock; suck that cock.”
The entire club took up the chant. Not that either twin needed encouragement, but the social bond that permeated the atmosphere of the Ballyhoo was infectious. Tara screamed an impassioned shout, then plunged her mouth over the waiter’s cock, thrusting her head up and down the shaft with enthusiasm and lusty verve. Not to be outdone, Tina stood and walked over to the smiling, moaning man. She grabbed his hand and placed it over her soaked pussy, through the high, revealing slit of her dress.
“That’s it,” Tina moaned. “Get me nice and wet, partner.”
“Oh fuck, you suck a mean cock,” he sighed as Tara, having sucked him to rock-hardness, did her oral magic.
“She’s a cocksucking whore, but my cunt’s tighter.”
“Slut,” Tara accused, momentarily taking her greedy mouth off the waiter’s shaft.
“Dirty skank, fingering yourself while giving head in public.” She turned to the cowboy waiter. “Stick a finger up my ass; it will make me cum.”
Feeling free and aroused, the onlookers, cheering and clapping, adding more fuel to her horny fires, Tina grabbed the waiter, kissing him, passionately, and her hands roamed all over his muscular torso while he fingered her and her identical twin deep-throated him. Her fuck hole clenched around his digits, her ass gripping his other finger as he thrust in and out, causing her to orgasm.
“Don’t fucking stop; don’t stop. Harder. I’m cummminnngg!”
“Fuck, me too,” the waiter yelled.
Tara released his quivering cock from the vacuum of her mouth, aiming the head at her face. Her blurred hands stroked the shaft furiously as his turgid member shot streams of hot spunk onto her cheeks, chin, and lips.
“Cleanup at table two!” Ryanna shouted. “Who’s horny enough to lick it off, Tina... or Tara…whichever twin it is?”
“I’ve got this, queen-bitches!” an effeminate man with a long, oiled, braided beard, wearing a slutty, backless dress, shrieked.
“Lick it off! Lick it off!” the emcee and the club’s patrons chanted as the man ran over to the twins, his gaudy faux-pearl necklace flapping with each step. He knelt between the waiter and Tara, alternating between cleaning the man’s cock and licking the cum off of Tara’s face. Not to be outdone, Tina threw herself on the lavish carpet, freeing the crossdresser’s cock and sucking on it.
“I hope our food comes as fast as you did, cowboy,” Tina smirked when they were done.
As always, the dinner and service were top-notch. Multiple dancers came out and performed, putting the wildest, naughtiest antics of male reviews and vanilla strip clubs to shame. The twins dined on succulent steak, while the multitude of other women feasted on whipped cream they sprayed on the men’s cocks or ladies’ breasts. The blond twins gorged themselves on the tasty meals, then devoured their massive arsenal of drinks, and the booze kept flowing. They went from tipsy to drunk, then from wasted to shit-faced, yelling, screaming, fondling, sucking, and tossing out tips as if they were rich.
Finally, after the Pumphord twins ate their fills and drank themselves toward oblivion, Princess, the emcee, announced, “And now, my queens, the moment you’ve been waiting for. Prince Charming will take the stage. The odds of him guessing which twin is which, correctly, are an even split tonight. Make your bets, and the bar’s open!”
Prince Charming was simply dreamy. Towering in height, broad in shoulder, and narrow in waist, the hazel-eyed man with the sexy, pronounced cheekbones radiated raw sexuality and a sensual aura. His long, bleached-blond hair fell about his face and shoulders, giving him a tender-hearted, bad-boy vibe. As if sculpted from sinewy granite, his muscular physique demanded attention, despite the quasi-medieval finery he adorned his body with.
