Ignazio
Alejandro led me to a back room, as we walked through the crowded hallway, the air thickening with anticipation. We entered the private clubhouse, and the door swung shut behind us, enveloping us in darkness.
The room pulsed with bass-heavy music, spotlights dancing across the space. Cigar smoke and liquor hung heavy, mingling with the scent of sweat and desire.
Patrons lounged on plush couches, sipping drinks and laughing. Others indulged in more carnal pleasures, their moans and gasps weaving into the music.
On stage, a woman writhed against a pole, her body glistening with oil. Nearby, couples fornicated openly, lost in their own worlds.
Naked servers, their skin gleaming under dim lights, glided through the crowd, trays balanced on their fingertips. They offered champagne
