Another Friday night, another bar, another evening of being the slightly drunk, redundant, third leg, with my BFF Carla and her partner, Vlad. I was always happy to hang out with Carla and I think she felt the same about me, but I sometimes felt sorry for Vlad, being dragged along for my weekly ritual humiliations.

"What about that one over there?" asked Carla, pointing at a young man sitting as part of a group.

"Too young," I dismissed him, although he was rather cute in a pretty-boy sort of way. Then one of the other young men leaned over and kissed him on the lips. "And too like my ex!" I recoiled in horror.

"Sharon, you seriously need to get back on the horse. It's been six months since you dumped the cheating fag. You're young and attractive and you should be having the time of your life."

"You may be right," I conceded, sadly. "I just can't get over the fact that he was cheating on me with another man. I don't think I can cope with another relationship yet."

"Sharon, you really need to get laid!" said Carla.

Vlad was keeping a tactful silence, occasionally making his feelings known by raising a querulous eyebrow.

"Uncomplicated, meaningless, unemotional fucking. I could go for that." My alcohol-fueled assertion came out way too loud, causing Carla and Vlad to laugh.

"Excuse me," came a rich, deep voice from behind me, making me start. "I couldn't help overhearing what you just said. If you're serious, I may be able to help."

I turned round to find a man in his late forties, smartly dressed and distinguished looking with gray flashes in his hair. He looked quite fit for his age, but had something like twenty years on me.

"Um, no disrespect intended, but I think you might be a little old for me."

The man's laugh was easy and unforced. "My name's Brian." He held out his hand.

"Sharon." I reluctantly took the proffered hand and we shook. His grip was firm and confident.

"No offence taken, Sharon, although you shouldn't dismiss the benefit of experience that lightly. No, I help to run a sort of club that caters for people in your situation. You've heard of speed dating, I presume?"

"Been there, done that, wrote the book," I replied with more than a hint of sarcasm. "The men are always losers."

"We do speed fucking. About once a month on a Saturday night we take over a wing of an out-of-town motel. We have eight to ten men and an equal number of women, all screened to make sure they're reasonably attractive. Each man fucks each woman for five minutes then they rate each other. Good matches are given each other's details so they can get in touch privately, anyone who gets consistently low marks isn't invited back."

"Isn't that dangerous?" asked Carla. "What about disease?"

"All the men have to wear condoms. We supply them so we know they're decent quality. We haven't had any accidents yet, but one of the committee is a qualified pharmacist with a supply of medicated douches and morning-after pills."

"What happens if a man cums and then can't get it up again?" asked Vlad. Carla and Vlad had a good relationship, but she had confided to me that Vlad sometimes had a hair-trigger.

"The men wear cock-rings to keep them hard."

Vlad nodded, but the look in his eyes indicated he had learned something new to try out.

"I bet you get a lot more men than women," Vlad commented.

"Actually, no. The prospect of having sex with so many women in quick succession is quite daunting for a lot of men. And we get a lot of regular custom from alpha females, for whom getting meaningless sex this way is far cheaper and much less hassle than hiring an escort and wining and dining him first. Unfortunately sometimes one or two committee members have to participate in order to even out the numbers so we have a double incentive to perform well."

"I guess it's a hard job, but someone has to do it," smirked Vlad.

"How much does it cost?" asked Carla.

It seemed odd to me that I was the prospective client but Vlad and Carla were asking most of the questions.

"There's the motel charge for a room for the night and breakfast, although we get discounted group rates. And we lay on a late supper after the event. There's also the cost of sundries like cock rings, condoms and spermicidal lubricants, and the committee charges a fee to cover out-of-pocket expenses. As I said, it's still far cheaper than hiring an escort."

"Here, have this," said Brian to me, holding out a laminated piece of card with his details on it. "If you have any questions I'll be pleased to answer them, and I can e-mail you a detailed set of instructions. There's just one thing - please may I take your photo? I'm sure there will be no problem, but attendees have to be approved by two committee members before they're invited to an event."

The card contained only his name, a cellphone number and an e-mail address. Nice and discreet, no mention of the speed fucking club. I slipped the card into my purse, earning a look of surprise from Carla.

"Okay, I guess," I agreed, but with no degree of certainty.

Brian took out his cellphone and pointed it at me. There was a click and a flash. Brian turned the cellphone round so I could see the result on the lcd screen. It was late and I'd been drinking and my make-up needed repairing, so I looked far from my best.

"I look terrible. Please don't show that to anyone," I begged.

"Relax, you're a very attractive woman. You'll have no problems getting a second approval."

Vlad snorted but Carla smiled; she was forever telling me how I didn't know how attractive I really was.

Brian asked me how I spelled my name, which I thought was very considerate since some of us have two 'r's in the middle, and he entered my name against the photo on his cellphone. He said goodbye to all of us, shaking my hand again and reminding me of the firm confidence of his handshake, then he left.

"Creep," muttered Vlad.

"I don't know, he seemed rather nice, in an old-fashioned sort of way," I countered.

"I can't believe you're really considering it," exclaimed Carla.

"I'm not," I protested. "It just seemed rude to decline the card."

Next Friday was like Groundhog Day, another bar with Carla and Vlad, again slightly too much to drink and again striking out.

The following Friday things looked up for a while. I got chatting to a smart-looking guy at the bar. Things went reasonably okay until he went over his limit, when his conversation became restricted to his alleged nine inches and all the things he had done with it. I quickly declined his attempt to add me to his conquests.

Saturday, while in a despondent mood, I came across Brian's card. It took most of the day before I could pluck up the courage, but I rationalized that just sending an e-mail wouldn't commit me to anything and it would be interesting to find out what sort of perversions were involved with his speed fucking club.

The reply came the next morning. Brian wrote that he had shown my photo to another committee member and I would be approved, if I were interested. The next meeting was to be in two weeks time.

Brian had attached a document explaining how the club worked; I read it through twice. Everything seemed well thought-out and safety- conscious. Either partner could refuse to participate in a particular coupling, but the ultimate choice of positions etc lay with the woman. All the women were equipped with a wrist-borne emergency alarm, and if anything happened they were uncomfortable with, they could press the activation button and a male committee member would be there within a couple of minutes.

Although I was unexpectedly impressed by what I had read, I had already decided not to go through with it. However I didn't delete Brian's e-mail or the document.

Friday evening found me at another bar with Carla and Vlad. I tried chatting nicely to a guy who seemed okay at first, but then I was surrounded by his mates all trying to cop a drunken feel. After my perpetual wingmen, Carla and Vlad, had rescued me, at first all I felt was relief that I hadn't been raped. Later I felt really down. With alcohol still flowing freely through my veins, I sent a reply to Brian asking him to book me a place for the following weekend, supplied the requested details and paid the fee by transfer from my on-line bank account.

When I woke up the next morning and remembered what I had done, my first instinct was to cancel. Then I remembered the document had stipulated 'no refunds'. Instead I decided to just not turn up on the night. As Brian had said, the cost was surprisingly modest so it wasn't that big a loss. For the rest of the week I forgot all about it, except when I received an e-mail confirming my booking and giving detailed instructions.

Friday night, another bar. Actually there weren't that many bars in the city so we had to make repeat visits, but we had a convention not to frequent the same bar more than once a month. I thought I'd struck lucky when I met a nice-looking, seemingly intelligent guy. Then when he went to the head the bartender, who remembered me from a previous visit, tipped me off to look for the guy's wedding band. When the guy returned from the head I scrutinized his hand. No wedding band, but there was a white circle where one had obviously been worn recently.

"Does your wife know you're here?" I challenged him.

"Bitch!" he snarled at me, then stalked out.

I bought the bartender a drink for tipping me off.

Saturday morning I woke up in my usual despondent mood. I was just about desperate enough to go to the speed fucking club. I can't remember anything I did that day as one moment I resolved to attend then the next I changed my mind. I was a complete wreck.

Late afternoon, I thought WTF and decided to go. According to the details, I could always decline to fuck anyone, although that would mean I'd never be invited again. I showered, washed my hair, shaved my pits, and trimmed and shaved my pussy hair until it looked what I hoped was reasonably respectable. I dressed smart casual as the instructions suggested, packing a change of clothes and a robe and other essentials into an overnight bag.

I was so nervous driving to the motel that I had to make a special effort to concentrate, otherwise I'm sure I would have killed someone. The motel looked a shabby, unprepossessing sort of place and I was almost tempted to turn round and drive home. Instead I followed the instructions to head to the motel's breakfast room, where I found an attractive, smartly dressed, slightly older woman waiting, wearing a badge identifying her as 'Ruth'.

"Hi, are you here for the club?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied nervously.

"Are you Sharon?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"I've got mugshots of all the attendees. It's a security measure against gatecrashers. You're booked into Room 26." The woman handed me a key and indicated where I should sign in. "Is this your first time?"

"Yes. And I don't mind admitting I'm nervous," I said, writing my details in what I hoped was an unrecognizable scrawl.

"That's perfectly normal, but it'll soon pass. Would you like me to run through how everything works?"

"Yes please." I probably knew it off by heart but it wouldn't hurt to hear it all again, and it would take my mind off things.

Ruth explained I'd stay in my room the whole time while the men changed round. After a man entered my room we'd have approximately three minutes to agree positions etc and for the man to don a fresh condom before the 'start' buzzer sounded. We could then fuck for five minutes before a 'stop' buzzer would sound, at which point all fucking was to cease.

I remembered that the men were given a sufficient supply of condoms for the evening. All men had to masturbate to orgasm soon after arrival, allowing newcomers to be measured for condom size. When the men were subsequently flaccid they were fitted with a cock ring to keep them hard for the rest of the evening. Women were also recommended to masturbate beforehand so they'd be relaxed and lubricated, and I'd brought my favorite vibrator with me for just that purpose.

Ruth then went over the scoring system. I was to rate each partner from 0 to 10. 0 meant that I never wanted to fuck that person again, and the committee would ensure that the two of us were never invited to the same evening again. 1-3 meant below par, and if an attendee averaged below a certain score, they were banned from the club. 4-6 meant average, okay if not exactly mind-blowing. 7-10 meant that you had felt a connection, Similarly each man would rate me, and if we both rated each other 7 or more, we'd be given each other's contact details so we could hook up independently of the club.

The woman handed me an emergency alarm in case I encountered a situation uncomfortable enough for me to need rescuing. She recommended that I wear it on my left wrist if I were right-handed and vice-versa.

Finally she told me to go to my room and prepare. They'd broadcast a five minute warning through the motel intercom system before my first partner. I could expect nine partners in all that evening, subject to everyone showing up.

For such a downbeaten motel, Room 26 was surprisingly quite nice, in a sparse, functional sort of way. It was clean, pleasantly warm, and the double bed was nice and soft. A complimentary drinks tray had been provided by the club, a jug of chilled water, cans of soda, and mini bottles of white wine. I opened a bottle of white wine and took a large gulp to steady my nerves. I stripped off my clothes and raided my overnight bag for my vibrator.

Lying back on the bed, I turned on the vibrator and rubbed my clitty. In my nervous state it took much longer than usual, but eventually I felt the familiar warm tingling emanate from my pussy and spread over my body. When my pussy was sufficiently moist, I slipped a couple of fingers in and finger-fucked myself. Eventually I peaked, my pussy clenching gently round my fingers as orgasm washed over me.

I was aroused from my post-orgasmic bliss by the motel intercom.

<<This is your five minute warning. We have a full complement, so everyone will have nine partners tonight.>>

I quickly gulped down the rest of the wine, and anointed myself in strategic places with my favorite perfume. I noted the large bottle of spermicidal lubricant on the bedside table. I assumed I'd have to ask if I needed a medicated douche.

A short time later there was a knock on the door, and in came my first man. He was white, about ten years older than me, and in good shape.

"Hi, I'm Eddy," he said.

"Sharon," I reciprocated.

"Is this your first time?"

"Yes, does it show?"

"You look a bit nervous. I'm an experienced hand and they often pair me off with a virgin to start with. I'll try to make it enjoyable for you."

"Thanks."

'At least he's got a nice cock, ' I thought to myself, 'not too large and not too small and no unnatural bends or lumps. It's not circumcised either, but that doesn't really matter since he has to wear a condom.'

At this point, the thought of refusing sex was no longer in my mind.

"Any thoughts on what position you'd like," said Eddy, as he unfoiled a condom and peeled it over his straining cock.

I was so nervous I was almost shaking. I could see the cock ring round the base of his cock, keeping him hard.

"Um, the usual?"

"You mean missionary? That works for me," Eddy smiled. "Do you need any additional lubricant?"

"Um, I guess it wouldn't hurt." My mouth had suddenly gone dry and it came out as a croak.

Eddy squirted some lubricant into his hand, then coated his condom- covered cock with it. The 'start' buzzer sounded.

"Here we go then," he said.

Eddy mounted the bed, nudged my knees wide apart and crawled between them. He positioned his cock at the entrance to my pussy and pushed. Every instinct screamed at me to clamp down and try to keep him out, but I managed to relax my muscles and stay inert.

Eddy fucked me efficiently and mechanically, but without any real feeling or passion. It felt nice having his cock inside me but he didn't push my buttons and there was no danger of my cumming.

Eventually the 'stop' buzzer sounded and Eddy pulled out. He pulled off the used condom and dropped it in the bin provided.

"Thank you, that was nice," he said before leaving.

I wouldn't go out of my way to fuck him again but he seemed to be a nice guy, especially the way he tried to put me at ease beforehand, so I gave him a 6.

My second man, Gustav, was also white and looked almost ten years younger than me, barely out of his teens. He had a slim body, although nicely toned, but his cock was small and very slender.

"So how do you want to do it," asked Gustav, after the introductions.

"What do you suggest?"

"Well, I'm not the biggest down there," he admitted ruefully, "so many women prefer doggy style for the depth of penetration."

"Okay, let's give it a go," I agreed.

I got on my hands and knees on the middle of the bed, and when the 'start' buzzer sounded Gustav entered me. As a fuck it was very disappointing, I could barely feel him in me, it felt like a finger pushing in and out.

After the 'stop' buzzer sounded, Gustav pulled out. We thanked each other, then he said goodbye and left.

I felt bad about it but I really didn't want another fuck like that. I gave him a 3.

My third man, Alfred, was a tall African American. And he had a huge, thick, circumsized cock. I stared at it with horror; there was no way that monster would fit inside me.

"How do you want to do it?" asked Alfred.

"Missionary?" I suggested, since I definitely didn't want deep penetration. I insisted Alfred used lots and lots of extra lube on the windsock-sized condom.

When the 'start' buzzer sounded, Alfred mounted me and tried to insert his cock. Involuntarily I clenched down hard, denying him access.

"Relax," he encouraged, "it will fit, you'll see."

I forced my muscles to relax, and the head of Alfred's cock bored its way into my inadequate pussy. It felt like a telegraph pole being forced inside me, stretching me more than anything had stretched me before, rearranging my innards to make room. There were still a good couple of inches of the monster outside me when it hit my cervix, causing me to wince.