r/moonpetalxo90

I had posted about our first experience at Oasis but accidentally deleted it. I’ve had a few people reach out saying they loved my
Story but couldn’t find it anymore. So posting again!
We are excited to come back again REALLY soon!

💚🍀💚🍀💚🍀💚
Before our first experience at oasis, my husband and i agreed on a colour system for both of our comfort levels. Green for good( keep going), yellow for slow down(I’m not sure), and red for stop.

The neon sign flickered above the door like a dirty promise: Oasis. My husband’s hand was steady on the small of my back as we stepped inside, but my heart was trying to punch its way out of my ribcage.

I’d dressed like I was going to a gothic funeral—black mesh crop top clinging to my tits, vertical slashes showing skin all the way down my sides, matching skirt that barely covered my ass and had holes running up the hips like invitation lines.
(Photo of me in the top attached in link url)

Underneath, the swimsuit felt like armor. Thin, useless armor.
Inside it smelled like chlorine, sex, and expensive body oil. The doorman ran through the rules with the enthusiasm of someone reading a grocery list. “You will see nudity. You will see sex. Are you okay with that?”

I managed a yes. My husband, the fucking comedian, deadpanned “Oh my god, no way,” and the guy actually paused until my husband laughed and said yes properly.

I wanted to melt into the floor.
Upstairs we stripped down at the lockers. I kept the swimsuit on at first, but the mesh outfit made me feel exposed in the best-worst way—covered and slutty at the same time. A naked woman in boots and a coat complimented the outfit while she was leaving for a smoke. “Cute as fuck, where’d you get it?” Her casual friendliness hit like Valium. Anxiety loosened its chokehold.

We wandered. Couples-only level first—empty rooms, closed bar, then the shaggin’ wagon. A couple was already fucking in there, slow and rhythmic. I let out a startled “oh” and turned away like I’d walked in on someone praying. My husband just grinned.

Down to the ballroom: two people in swimsuits doing naked-couples yoga on a giant vinyl bed, bodies pressed mirror-image, balanced, glistening. I stared longer than I meant to. Intrigued. Not ready.

Main floor. Drinks. Compliments from strangers—“That outfit is hot as hell”—and suddenly I felt less like prey.

Outside, winter bit hard. My husband walked into the heated pool naked like it was nothing. I followed in the swimsuit, then ditched the mesh dress on the deck because fuck it was cold. Two couples already in the water, chatting, bare. We claimed the far corner.

More people joined. Naked. Handsy. The older couple—forties, maybe fifties—started making out, then full-on fucking. Condom wrapper torn with teeth. She turned, tits pressed to the pool edge, ass up; he draped over her back and slid in deep. From the angle I was pretty sure it was her ass he was buried in. Slow, deliberate thrusts. My cunt clenched just watching.

That broke something in me. I peeled the swimsuit off under the water. Skin on skin with the warm current felt obscene and perfect.

My husband’s fingers found me almost immediately—circling my clit, dipping inside, lazy at first, then purposeful. I came quietly against his chest, biting my lip so hard I tasted copper.

Sauna next. Naked, towel under my ass, legs bent, feet on the bench so my pussy was on display if anyone looked. I didn’t care anymore. A woman with one pierced nipple sat close enough that her hip brushed my calf. She kept glancing at my tits. I kept glancing at the silver bar through her nipple. Fair trade.

The pool couple joined us. Water glass tipped—sounded like someone pissing. We all lost it laughing. Dehydration jokes. Red-face jokes. The pierced-nipple woman told me I looked like I was about to combust. She wasn’t wrong.

Later, voyeur windows. A couple fucking slow and tender on the other side—hands in hair, lips brushing, rocking like they were making love instead of just screwing. Beautiful. Raw. I felt my throat tighten with something softer than lust.
We ended up on a couch in the next room. My husbands fingers inside me, my hand wrapped around his cock, slow mutual masturbation while we watched the window couple graduate to proper fucking. Then his mouth was on me—long, luxurious licks that made my hips jerk. I came again, quieter this time, thighs shaking.
Tantra class in the ballroom. Everyone mostly naked. Breath work. Energy talk. Then earth-air-fire-water touches. His palms sliding over my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, down my belly, skirting my cunt on purpose. I was soaked. Literally dripping down my thighs. Other couples were outright fingering, moaning softly. The room smelled like arousal and sweat. we were buzzed but wanted to stay sharp. Then upstairs again, friskier now.
We found a room with a couch and two big beds with another couple already on one. We made our way to the couch first—me riding my husband , grinding slow, then missionary so he could rub my clit while he fucked me deep. I asked to move to the bed because the couch was killing my knees.
On the mattress he buried his face between my legs. Tongue flat and insistent. Another couple fucking right beside us—wet slaps, breathy groans. A third couple sat on the couch to watch. I came hard with his fingers curled inside me, staring up at our reflection in the ceiling mirror—my legs spread, his head working, strangers’ eyes on us. I let myself make noise this time. Not screams. Just broken little whimpers that felt like truth.
Later the pool again. Espresso martini was a fucking mistake—nausea hit fast. I rested my cheek on the freezing edge while he played with me under the water. Fingers sliding through my folds, circling my clit, dipping in and out. The cold on my face, the heat between my legs, his arm locked around my waist—I came again, thighs clamping his wrist, biting back a moan so it came out like a sob.
VW wagon room for his birthday. Him sitting in the tiny tub. Me on my knees, long wet braid dripping down my spine, sometimes dripping onto my own cunt when I arched just right. I sucked him slow and filthy—deep, tongue flat along the underside, hollowed cheeks. Water trailed down my back, tickling my asshole. A woman watched for a minute then left. He wanted more eyes.
We moved to the room next door. Couple doggy-styling, heads turned, watching us. I blew him until my burned palate screamed, then he jerked himself while I kissed the head, until he spilled down my throat with a low, wrecked groan.
Past midnight the voyeur room turned into a full-on swap-fest. Couples trading partners, bodies tangled, grunts and wet sounds everywhere. One woman walked in, saw the screen, and her face twisted in disgust. I wanted to tell her to get the fuck out if she couldn’t handle it.
We paid the tab. Left.
Outside the cold slapped us sober. My thighs were sticky, my braid unraveling, lipstick long gone. My husband pulled me close under the streetlight.
“Green?” he asked.
I laughed, hoarse. “Fucking emerald.”
And I meant it.