I.
In college, I was always the “odd man out” among the eight of us who rented a house together during our Senior year. All of my roomies had paired off with serious girlfriends prior to the group of us even coming together, while I still played the field, so to speak. Each of the other guys was looking for a long term relationship, even marriage, but I did not plan to “settle down” until after law school. Perhaps a very, very long time after law school.
Then it happened. I met Sara.
Sure, she was a knockout. Short and cute, she turned heads wherever she went, even in demure clothes and minimal make-up. But there were plenty of gorgeous women on campus, and while I found her extremely attractive, I found it easier to slake my desire for companionship with undergrad coeds. When I first saw her in that Contracts Law class, first year, second semester, I noted that she was probably the cutest girl in the class, but quickly went back to perusing my textbook.
As fate would have it, though, I was given the opportunity to get to know her better. We were thrown together as the plaintiff table in mock trial. Whatever prep we were going to do needed to be done by Wednesday evening, she told me, because she worked Thursday through Saturday every weekend. I asked her where she worked, but she demured.
So, we had a couple of late nights in the law library, looking up precedents to our case.
She impressed me with her fierce wit, and her fierce determination to win the case. She came up with creative arguments, shaping them on the fly as she asked me to play the opposing counsel and knock them down. At the end of each study session, we’d spend time getting to know each other, talking about our aspirations as lawyers, our views on politics (they aligned nicely, thankfully), and our longer term goals for the future. Each night, she’d let me walk her back to her car, a beat up old Toyota Cressida. We finished our prep by the Wednesday deadline.
Or so I thought.
She called me up Sunday night and asked if we could review everything in the law library; so, I met her there. Our case didn’t really take more than an hour to review, though, and we spent the rest of the night talking, until the staff kicked us out at eleven. I walked her to her car, again. Because she was more than just the cute girl in my freshman Contracts Law now, she was someone I genuinely liked and admired, I went in for a kiss.
And she kissed me back.
She was a tad over five feet, and I was a tad over six feet: she barely came up to my collarbone even with her boots’ three-inch heels. What I’m saying is, I had to bend down, and she had to reach up. It was awkward at first, but worth it. So, so worth it.
We stood there making out in the parking lot, next to her driver-side door, for several minutes.
Finally, I broke away to ask, “Would you want to go out sometime? Grab a coffee, do the dinner thing? They have a cheap movie night at the Pallisade on Mondays for the film history students, but anyone can go. Interested?”
She pursed her lips. “Listen,” she replied. “I’m not really in a good place for a relationship, even a casual date, right now. I’m really focused on my schoolwork. I’m taking a full courseload, plus working, and I just can’t let myself take my eye off the ball. I’m sorry.”
I was a little hurt: I mean, rejection always hurts, even a little. But her reasoning was sound. “I understand,” I told her. “To be honest, my schoolwork could use a little more concentrating, as well.”
“It’s not you,” she said. “You’re cute, and funny, and we’ve got a lot in common. If I was going to date, I would definitely date you. Just… not right now. Not until I graduate.”
“I get it. I… Honestly, I feel the same way. It’s just… like you said, we’ve got a lot in common. And you’re cute, too.”
She grinned at me. “Let’s… keep in touch, though, eh?” she continued. “I’ve got a study group I meet with every Monday night, if you’re interested?”
“Sounds great,” I said. “Tell me about it after class on Monday.”
She got in her car and left. I went back to my house and took a shower. A cold one.
Monday came and we absolutely smoked the opposition in the mock trial. She hugged me afterwards, and told me the time and place for the study group.
Turns out, I was the only guy in the group. Most of the group were Sara’s friends from her undergrad days, and several of them were, like Sara, Women’s Studies majors. A number of them were lesbians, and I could tell that a couple of those had crushes on Sara, too.
At the end of the semester, the group broke up and went our separate ways, promising to reconnect in September. Sara was going to school during the summer, but I would be working full time in a friend’s father’s construction business in town.
A few weeks into summer, I discovered the real reason Sara had rejected my advances.
One of my undergrad roommates, Brad, was having his bachelor party a week before his wedding, and one of the stops was a strip club at a different town some sixty miles away, where the local laws allowed full nudity. I’m not a big patron of these kinds of places, but I like watching naked girls grind as much as the next guy, so I was game.
We’d been there about half an hour before the DJ announced the next feature dancer: Sunny, a petite blonde who came out to the strains of Boney M.’s disco cover of the song of the same name. Despite the heavy make-up, teased-up dark blonde hair, and body glitter, I could tell it was Sara right away. One of my buddies had to remind me to pick my jaw up off the floor.
She commenced with an athletic, acrobatic performance, spinning around the pole and losing first her sequined bra, then her g-string, leaving her wearing only a single garter around her right thigh. (I was pleased to find that, in the vernacular, the carpet matched the drapes.) Her body was magnificent: full breasts, narrow waist and hips, and well-toned legs.
I caught her eye at one point, and while her face betrayed the briefest fleeting shock of recognition, she quickly shot me a wry smile and went back to her routine.
By the time she was finished, I was rock hard, which made the next part difficult: I traversed the floor with said erection in order to sidle up to the stage’s railing, where I fished out a twenty and slipped it under her garter. Before I could say anything, she put her mouth next to my ear and, just loud enough so that only I could hear, said, “Don’t go anywhere.”
I had no plans to leave anyway, so I made my way back to my seat while she collected her tips and went backstage.
The group of us put in together to get Brad a lap dance from a different stripper, cheering him on with the usual choruses of reminding him that this was his last night of freedom and so on.
“Sunny” emerged from the back about ten minutes later, back in her bra and g-string. She wended her way across the floor, stopping to exchange pleasantries with some of the customers but eventually making her way over to me. She slid onto my lap and smiled at me.
“So,” she asked sweetly, “would you like a private show in the VIP room?”
“Fuck, yeah,” I answered. She hopped off, took my hand, and led me towards one of the curtained rooms on the side of the club, my buddies cheering me on the whole time.
Once we got behind the closed curtains, her demeanor grew serious. As she pushed me into the fuzzy red lounge chair, she said, “Listen, I need you to understand that I’m not embarrassed by this, okay? I’m not embarrassed by what I do for a living.”
“Nor should you be,” I agreed. “What you do with your body is your choice.”
“That said,” she continued, looming over me, “it would make my life easier if our professors and classmates didn’t know about it. The job has a certain… notoriety. Expectations of character. Expectations that I’d rather not have imposed upon me at school. Basically, I don’t want to be treated like a sex object there.”
“Understandable,” I told her. “I won’t say a word to anyone.”
“Good.” She smiled. She unhooked the clasp at the front of her bra and let her bounteous breasts tumble out. Then she went to the corner of the room and hung it over a security camera I had not previously noticed.
“Uh, isn’t that going to raise suspicions?”
“No. It’s there for our protection; they know that if we cover it up, we want to be left alone.”
She turned her back to me and bent at the waist, giving me a delightful view of her firm ass as she peeled the g-string down and kicked it into the same corner.
“We don’t usually go full nude in the VIP rooms.” She grinned as she slid onto my lap.
She ground her ass against my crotch and instantly my erection returned. Soon she leaned her head against my shoulder, arched her back, and said, “You can put your hands on me, if you want; I don’t mind being treated like a sex object now, in here.”
I took her up on her invitation, putting my hands first on her hips then sliding them around and up over her flat abs up to those incredible tits. I fondled her gently at first, then more roughly, pinching her nipples between my thumb and forefinger.
“Ooooh, I like that,” she purred.
With my left hand I continued fondling her, while my right hand slid down to her waist and pulled her tighter against me. I then slid that hand down to her crotch: she let out a gasp as my middle finger slid over her clit and another as I slid it into her sopping wet pussy. I thumbed her clit while I continued to finger her, and it wasn’t long before she was moaning loudly and squirting onto my fingers. I brought that middle finger up to her face, and she almost instinctively sucked it into her mouth.
She pushed off against me and stood up then spun around and knelt between my legs.
“Have you ever had a Hawaiian Muscle Fuck?” she asked, grinning wolfishly.
Before I could answer, she unzipped my pants and reached in to pull out my throbbing erect cock. “Oh, nice,” she commented, surveying its length and girth. (I don’t have the biggest cock, to be sure, but at seven inches, I am a bit above average.)
She bent forward and put her lips against the tip then drooled saliva over the head; she proceeded to lubricate the shaft with that saliva and my precum. Then she leaned forward and slid my cock between her breasts. She kneaded her tits against my shaft while sliding them up and down. Locking eyes with me, she smiled and said, “You like that?”
“Fuck, yeah,” I answered again.
“Let me know when you’re about to come,” she told me.
I just nodded and let her work. It didn’t take long before I gasped out, “I’m close.” She dropped her head and took the tip of my cock into her mouth, stroking me with her right hand. I quickly shot my load into her mouth; she swallowed every drop.
“I don’t want to have to re-do my makeup,” she said to me, winking.
She proceeded to climb into my lap and kissed me. “Look,” she said, “I’m really attracted to you. I really, really wanted to take you up on your offer of going out, but most guys can’t handle dating a stripper. I’ve seen jealousy ruin a lot of relationships among the dancers here.”
“I could understand that,” I told her, “but I’m not most guys. Why don’t you let me decide what I can and can’t handle?”
She sighed. “Fair enough,” she said. “We’ll give it a try. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, my buddy Brad out there is getting married next weekend. Want to be my plus one?”
“Sure.” She smiled then kissed me again. We continued making out, rubbing our hands over each other’s bodies, until the intercom called for her to report backstage for her next feature dance.
So, the next weekend, I took Sara to Brad’s wedding. Surprisingly to me, none of my buddies seemed to recognize Sara in her “civilian” clothes and her usual minimal make-up. (This was not surprising to Sara, who confirmed to me that most customers at the club weren’t usually looking at her face.)
That night, we went back to my place and fucked each other’s brains out. We even tried anal: it was a bit painful for Sara at first, but eventually she really got into it.
By the start of the fall semester, we were living together.
Her job really had very little impact on me, other than the fact that on the nights that she danced, Sara tended to get sexually wound up, and she’d come home ready for anything. The attention men paid her at the club, she once confessed, gave her a sexual thrill.
But the club was an hour away, and she only danced three nights a week. I was too caught up studying to go most nights, although I would go see her dance on the occasional Saturday. We’d usually end up fucking in the VIP room: it was one of her kinks to do it in semi-public places.
The only real hiccup came when one of her regular clients sent flowers to our apartment. None of the customers were supposed to have her home address, which meant that he either followed her home one night or he somehow got hold of her employment documents.
I was worried for her, of course, but she let me know that she had let the guy know in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t interested in him and took the further steps of getting him banned from the club and taking out a restraining order against him.
It turned out that he left her alone after that, but my one bit of paternalistic (or patronizing, in her words) insistence was that she carry her cell phone with her at all times and text me before and after work. She agreed to that, and it really wasn’t an issue for the rest of her career at the club.
I know it’s kind of a cliché for a stripper to work her way through school, but that really was the case for her. The end result was she got an education with no student loans, whereas I graduated with a six-figure debt. Which is why, to this day, she is able to work for peanuts at a women’s non-profit organization (mid five-figures, but still low, for a lawyer), while I slave away at a large engineering firm reviewing contracts. In my defense, this was always my plan (my undergraduate degree is in engineering as well), but I didn’t expect my work life to be so boring, and I envy how satisfied her career makes her.
We got married right out of law school, before moving to a suburb of the big city where we both found our jobs.
It was less than a year into the marriage that we first tried swinging.
II.
Funnily enough, it was actually Brad, at whose wedding we’d had our first date, and his wife Catherine who introduced Sara and me to the lifestyle.
They had us over for dinner one Friday evening and plied us with wine: Brad was something of a wine snob and kept insisting that we “had to” try this vintage or that. We had finished two bottles by the time dinner was over.
We then convened to the living room with a third bottle, and Brad suggested we play “Never Have I Ever,” and Sara and I agreed. A few rounds went by until Brad, on his turn, said, “Never have I ever… worked as a stripper.”
My eyes shot to Sara as she pursed her lips and then took a sip of wine from her glass.
“I KNEW IT!” Brad shouted. “You were at that club we went to at my bachelor party! You gave Tim here a lap dance in the VIP room!”
“Oh my God,” Catherine commented, “that’s amazing!”
“It was a lot more than a lap dance,” I muttered.
“Nice,” Brad offered.
“Was it good money?” Catherine asked.
“Good enough that I have no debts and a fully funded IRA,” Sara replied.
“Wow!” Brad exclaimed.
Catherine continued, “Was it just topless?”
“No, full nude,” Sara returned.
“That’s so brave of you,” Catherine told her. “I’d have been too self-conscious about my body to do that kind of work. Although I’m getting better about that.”
“We should show them that boudoir portfolio you gave me for my birthday,” Brad said.
“Oh, no, that’s just for your eyes, baby,” Catherine protested. Then, turning to me, she asked, “Hey, didn’t her working there make you jealous?”
“I’m not the jealous type,” I answered. “Neither is Sara.”
“Cool.” Brad took another sip of wine. “Time for a new game. Truth or Dare. I go first. Tim, truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Okay… How often do you and Sara have sex?”
“Jeez, getting right to the personal stuff, huh?” I returned. I pondered for a moment then said, “Probably three or four times a week.”
Sara scoffed. “More like five or six.”
“Nice,” Brad offered again. “Okay, Tim, your turn.”
“Alright. Catherine, truth or dare?”
“Truth,” she replied.
“How often do you have sex?”
“With Brad? Probably two or three times a week.”
“What do you mean, ‘with Brad’? Who else would you be having sex with?”
“No fair,” Cat protested. “One question per turn.”
Sara and I glanced at each other.
“My turn,” Catherine said, taking another sip of wine. “Sara, truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Okay… hum… when you gave lap dances to guys at the club, did any of them, um, get off?”
Sara laughed. “I sure hope so. That’s kind of the point of a lap dance. I’m sure most if not all of them got off.”
“Wow,” she said, turning to me again, “and that really didn’t make you jealous?”
“Hey, the lap dances she gave at the club were nothing compared to what she did to me when she got home.”
Sara giggled at that and took another sip of wine. “Hey, that’s not fair. You asked two questions, one to me and one to Tim.”
“Oh, that’s right…” Catherine agreed. “You take two turns.”
“Okay. First turn. Catherine, truth or dare?”
“Dare,” Catherine said, waggling her eyebrows.
Sara though for a moment. “Show us your boudoir portfolio.”
Catherine’s cheeks reddened a bit, but eventually she said, “Oh, okay. Here, pick up your glasses.”
We all pulled our wineglasses off the surface of the steamer trunk that served as their coffee table, Brad taking Catherine’s, and she opened it up and pulled out an oversize scrapbook and handed it to Sara.
My wife snuggled up to me and said, “Let’s take a look.”
Now, Catherine is a third-grade teacher. Her black hair is cropped short in what I can only describe as one of those third-grade-teacher pixie cuts, and she dresses very, very conservatively.
As such, I was expecting the portfolio to contain pictures of her trying to look sexy in lingerie, and maybe, maybe, a topless shot or two.
This was not that.
Sara opened up the portfolio, and the first shot showed Catherine on a bed, facing the camera, fully nude and reclining, her labia spread with the index and middle fingers of her right hand, with her left hand cupping one of her pert breasts.
“Wow,” Sara offered, “these are really… something.”
We flipped through the portfolio, finding each picture to be more explicit than the last; more than a couple showed her stuffing toys into her mouth or pussy, and one was a close-up of her pulling one of her nipples to its limit. The final two showed, respectively: Catherine on her knees and shoulders, back to the camera, pulling her ass cheeks open with one hand and the middle finger of her other hand slid into her anus; and lying on her back, her legs spread wide and in the air, and what looked to be all four of the fingers on her right hand stuffed into her shaved pussy.
When we’d reached the end, Sara closed the scrapbook and put it back on top of the trunk. I could tell she was a little flushed, possibly from the wine, possibly from the dramatic turn the night had taken. “Okay, second turn,” she said. “Brad, are you jealous that Tim and I saw those pictures?”
Of course, I knew the answer to that already: Brad had been the one to clue us in to its existence in the first place by suggesting Cat show it to us.
Sure enough, he said, “Not at all. We’re not the jealous types, either. In fact…” He turned to his wife. “Catherine, honey, truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
“Okay, I dare you to give our guests a strip tease.”
Catherine’s cheeks reddened again. “Oh, my,” she said. “Just a tease? Or topless?”
“Fully nude,” Brad ordered. “Like Sara did at the club.”
Sara and I looked at each other, and she flashed me a wry smile.
“Oh, my,” Catherine said again. She downed the last of her wine then stood up. “I’m going to need some music for this,” she stated and went over to their stereo.
She pulled Brad’s phone out of the speaker’s dock and scrolled through it until she found the song for which she was looking. She replaced the phone in the speaker dock, and the first bars of Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” came through the speakers. Ah, the classic strip club anthem, I thought to myself.
She stood in front of us, just on the other side of the trunk, and began swaying her hips to the music, awkwardly at first then a little more confidently. Her fingers worked the buttons of her blouse, tugging it out of her skirt and opening it to us, flashing her bra at us, before taking the blouse all the way off and tossing it into the corner.
She turned away from us then reached her hands up and back to unclasp her bra, sliding it off and letting it join the blouse. As she turned back towards us, her right forearm was over her breasts, but she let the arm fall and gave a kind of “ta-DA” motion, shaking her tits enticingly.
Sara gave out an encouraging “Woo!” and I laughed, but I could feel my face getting flush as I started to get aroused.
She turned away from us again and repeated the process with her skirt, unzipping it and letting it fall then kicking it away. Then she stood with her legs crossed and slowly pulled down her white cotton panties, bending at the hips. She stepped out of them, moved her legs apart, and then “hiked” the panties to me, smacking me in the face with them. Sara and I both laughed at that. She then stood back up and turned around, with both hands covering her crotch. When she was fully facing us, she did a little “peek-a-boo” motion with them, showing us that her pussy was still shaved smooth.
We laughed again, and Sara applauded her.
“Very nice,” I said. “I’m keeping these, by the way.” I tucked the panties in my shirt pocket as if they were a handkerchief.
“That’s fine. They’re not my only pair.” Catherine smiled at me. She poured herself another glass of wine and sat back on her chair, tucking her legs under her this time but making no move to put her clothes back on.
“See, honey, you’re getting less self-conscious all the time,” Brad said, raising his glass.
“Indeed I am.” She returned the gesture and took a sip of wine. “My turn, right?”
“Right,” the three of us returned in unison.
“Sara, truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
Catherine inhaled deeply through her nose, her nostrils flaring. She and Brad exchanged looks, and then she smiled.
“Since Brad and I just proved how not-jealous we are, it’s your turn to prove how not-jealous you two are,” she said. She took another sip of wine. “I dare you to give Brad a lap dance.”
Sara looked at me, eyes wide, then leaned in close. “You know where this is headed, right?” she murmured. “Are you up for this?”
“I am if you are,” I replied.
Sara stood up. “I’ll need some music, too,” she said, walking over to the stereo. She picked up the phone and browsed the stored songs until she found something she liked. As the phone settled back into the dock, Kanye West’s “Gold Digger” played through the speakers.
We all smiled as she slinkily danced her way towards Brad, twice doing three-sixty turns before standing in front of him. “Okay, we’re using strip club rules,” she told him. “Which means, panties stay on, and I can touch you but you can’t touch me. Got it?”
“But were not in a strip club,” Brad complained.
“Those are the rules. Got it?”
Brad pouted. “Fair enough.”
Still swaying to the rhythm, Sara pulled off her blouse and quickly removed her bra, as well. The skirt was unzipped next and allowed to fall to the floor, leaving Sara in just her panties, garter belt, and stockings.
She straddled Brad on the love seat, still moving her hips to the song, and leaned over Brad until her tits were less than two inches from his face then pulled back and shook them back and forth. She repeated this action a few times, going in and coming back out, getting her tits closer to his face each time.
By the time she stood up, I could tell that Brad was breathing heavily and sporting an obvious bulge in his pants.
She turned around and bent at the waist and the knees, shaking her ass in front of Brad, then backed up and sat on his lap. While she was grinding her ass on his crotch, Brad’s hands moved towards her a couple of times, but, apparently remembering the rules, he moved them back to his sides each time.
Finally, though, she leaned back against him, her head on his chest, pumping her hips against him.
Brad let out a huge sigh and muttered, “I can’t resist this,” before reaching around and fondling Sara’s tits.
Instead of getting mad, Sara reached up and pulled his head towards hers; I watched her tongue flicker into his mouth when she kissed him as the song was coming to an end.
After the kiss, Sara giggled and climbed off Brad and sat next to him on the love seat. “My turn!” she exclaimed. “Brad, truth: did you come?”
Brad shook his head, still catching his breath. “I came damn close,” he said.
“You at least got an erection, right?” Catherine asked.
“Oh, trust me, he got an erection, all right,” Sara replied, as she smiled knowingly.
Hell, I nearly had an erection just from watching her.
“Uh, yeah,” Brad said, half mumbling. “It’s my turn, right?
“Nope,” Sara said quickly. “You broke the rules, so you forfeit your turn. It’s still my turn.” Turning towards Brad’s wife, she said, “Catherine, I dare you to sit on Tim’s lap and make out with him for the length of the next song.”
Catherine and I looked at each other, and she smiled. She stood up, placed her wineglass on the top of the trunk next to mine, then stepped over to me and, still nude, straddled me. She bent down and placed her lips on mine, and our tongues met. I put my hands on her hips, and soon she was grinding against me the way she’d seen Sara do to her husband.
I don’t remember what song was playing when we started, but the next song up was Young MC’s “Bust A Move,” so for the next four and a half minutes we continued kissing, and moved on to touching, with her running her hands over my chest and me moving mine up her back.
At one point, Catherine was kissing my neck, and I looked over to Sara, who was watching us with rapt attention. One of her hands was in her lap, and I could tell that she was surreptitiously stroking her clit through her panties. Brad, likewise, had a hand on his crotch, squeezing and pulling: he also had his eyes locked on us.
I shot Sara a quizzical look, and she nodded, giving me tacit approval to go further. I brought my right hand around and started fondling Catherine’s tits.
“Yes, yes, play with them,” she murmured to me.
I pinched one of her nipples, hard, and pulled it taut, like I’d seen her do in her portfolio.
“God, yes, I love that,” she breathed in my ear.
I glanced at Sara, who licked her lips and nodded again. I slid my right hand down, over Catherine’s soft belly, to her shaved pussy, where I cupped her vulva and slid my middle finger between her labia.
“Keep going, keep going,” she urged breathlessly and, “Do it, do it.”
I plunged that finger into her moist pussy, and my thumb found her clit. Catherine let out a moan.
The song ended. Catherine pushed up from me, sitting upright, and I slid my finger out of her. Without missing a beat, she looked over her shoulder and said, panting, “Sara, I dare you to give my husband a blow job.”
Suddenly, I felt stone cold sober.
With a somewhat glassy look in her eyes, Sara smiled and slid off the couch and onto her knees. Brad slid over so she was between his legs and started unbuckling his pants. When Sara pulled his pants and boxers down, Brad took off his shirt and tossed it onto the floor.
Brad’s cock was a little longer than mine but slender; I still knew that Sara could handle it. I watched her take about a third of his cock into her mouth, then slide up, then slide back down. One bob, two bobs, and on the third bob, she slid his entire cock into her mouth and down her throat, nestling her nose against his crotch.
“Jesus Christ,” Brad muttered.
Catherine slid off of me and onto the floor between my legs, where she began unbuckling my belt. “Uh, shouldn’t we wait for them to finish?” I asked. “Sara’s got next turn.”
“Silly boy.” Catherine beamed up at me. “The game is over.”
She pulled off my pants and shorts then my socks. I followed Brad’s example and took off my shirt and threw it onto the floor.
She took hold of my already-erect cock and rubbed it against her cheek.
“Ooooh, you’re thick,” she purred. “This is going to be a fun night.”
She slipped the tip of my cock into her mouth and worked the head with her tongue like it was a lollipop, stroking me with her right hand. I noticed that her free hand was between her legs, presumably working her clit and stroking her labia.
I leaned back as she worked more of my cock into her mouth. I looked over at Brad and Sara. Sara was following what I recognized as a familiar rhythm: bob and suck, bob and suck, bob and suck, swallow… hold for a bit… then straighten up and let Brad’s cock fall out of her mouth, stroking it while she caught her breath. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I grew even more aroused as I watched this. Almost unconsciously, I took hold of the back of Catherine’s head and forced my cock farther into her mouth, still watching Sara work on Brad.
The gagging and sputtering snapped my attention back to Catherine.
“Sorry,” she said, her face flushed. “I’m not so good with the deep-throating yet.” She looked over to Brad and Sara and added, licking her lips, “Not nearly as good as your wife.”
“It’s all right,” I told her, standing up. “Let’s try something else.” I helped her up and led her around the steam trunk to the open area of the floor in front of it. “Get down on your hands and knees.”
She licked her lips again. “Yes, sir!”
As she “assumed the position,” I knelt behind her and took my cock in my hand. I rubbed the tip of it along her slit, eliciting some heavy sighs from Catherine. Eventually I slipped just the tip inside of her, then pulled it out, then slipped it back in again. Like Sara, I had my own rhythms. After three teasing insertions, I slammed my entire cock into her in one motion. Catherine moaned loudly, “Ohhhhh Goodddddd it’s so thick…”
This drew Brad’s attention. He smiled wolfishly as he saw me fucking his wife.
“I like where this is going,” he said. He put a hand on Sara’s shoulder, pushing her away, then pointed towards us.
Sara turned, and when she realized what was happening, her jaw dropped, then she smiled. She turned and crawled forward until she was almost nose-to-nose with Catherine, then dropped to her shoulders, undid her garters, and pulled her panties down to her knees.
Brad needed no further invitation. He slid off the couch and knee-walked to behind Sara, cock in hand. He slid it into her in one swift motion, causing Sara to moan loudly.
For a while we went on like that, each woman on her elbows and knees, each other’s husband fucking them from behind. The only sound in the room, apart from the stereo (now playing Digital Underground’s “Humpty Dance”… this must’ve been Brad’s classic hip-hop playlist…), was the smack-smack-smack of flesh hitting flesh and the soft moans and grunts from each woman.
Then Catherine did something I hadn’t expected: she leaned forward and kissed Sara on the mouth. I saw a look of surprise on Sara’s face, and then she broke into a grin, leaned forward, and kissed Catherine on the mouth in return.
Then the only sound in the room, apart from the stereo, was the smack-smack-smack of flesh hitting flesh and the now-muffled moans and grunts from each woman.
A few minutes later, Brad said, “Shit, I’m close… are you on the pill, Sara?”
Sara looked over her shoulder and replied, “Yes… you can come in me.”
“I’m on the pill, too,” Catherine offered.
“Good,” I grunted. I picked up the pace a bit, and Catherine rocked her hips back and forth, matching my rhythm.
Brad let out a loud bellow: “UhhhhhhhhhOhhhhhhhhFuuuuuuuuck…” He gave one final thrust and held himself against my wife’s ass, then withdrew from her and collapsed onto the floor, rolling onto his side. Sara rolled onto her side as well and nestled up against him, spooning with him.
Seeing Brad shoot his load into my wife drove me into what she lovingly calls “pile-driver mode”: I pulled my cock almost all of the way out of Catherine’s pussy then slammed the entire length back into her. Catherine cried out the first time I did this, then dropped from her elbows to her shoulders, and I could feel her hands on her pussy, apparently working her clit as I continued to slam into her. Soon she let out another cry, “AaaahhhhhIII’m coming!” That sent me over the edge, and I slammed into her one last time and emptied my load into her. We collapsed onto the floor together then rolled onto our sides and nestled up, opposite and facing Brad and Sara.
The four of us just lay there for a while, catching our breath. Finally, Sara said, “Truth: This wasn’t your first time swapping spouses, was it?”
All of us laughed, and Cat answered, “No, we’ve been part of the lifestyle for a few years now.”
“A few years?” I put in. “You’ve only been married for a few years.”
“We actually discussed it before we got married,” Brad told me. “We had been monogamous with each other all throughout college, but both of us wanted to try being with other people. So, after we got married and moved here, we found another couple online who was into swinging, and after we hooked up with them, they introduced to another couple…”
“… and another couple, and another couple,” Catherine added. “Now we swing or swap nearly every weekend. There’s a whole group of us.”
“And now you’ve introduced us,” Sara said, looking over her shoulder at Brad. She reached back behind her,and apparently took hold of his cock, because her next words were, “Jesus! Are you ready to go again already?!?”
Brad just grinned at her.
I blinked. “How is that possible?”
“He gets a little help from a little blue pill,” Cat giggled.
“Shit, Brad,” I said, “you’re twenty-seven years old. Is that even safe?”
“I’m a pharmacy resident,” Brad shot back. “You think I would take something that isn’t safe? Look, you basically have to make sure your heart is healthy enough for sex. There are some blood disorders that can fuck you up if you use it, too. But basically, I look at it as a performance enhancing drug.”
“You want one?” Catherine asked, pushing herself up onto one elbow and looking back at me.
“Sure, I’ll try it.”
Catherine got up and left the room. I watched as my wife lazily stroked Brad’s cock.
“So, I’ve got something in mind for what we can try next,” he said to her. “Ever eaten pussy?”
Sara scoffed. “I was a Women’s Studies major and right fielder on the softball team; of course I’ve eaten pussy.” She kissed Brad on the mouth. “I like where you’re going with this, though.”
Catherine returned with one of Brad’s little blue pills, and I downed it with some wine from one of the glasses on the steamer trunk. I didn’t know if it was my glass, but I figured enough bodily fluids had been exchanged that it no longer mattered.
“Honey,” Brad called to Catherine, “we’re going to do a daisy chain, with Sara in the middle.”
“Oooh, fun.” Catherine smiled. She sat down on the floor in front of them, legs spread apart, feet flat on the ground. Sara pushed herself up and crawled over to her.
Their tongues flickered into each other’s mouths as their lips locked, and then Sara kissed Catherine on the neck and worked her way down, suckling her tits and peppering her torso with kisses, until Catherine lay back on the floor and Sara buried her face in Catherine’s crotch.
Brad approached Sara from behind and slipped his cock back into her.
Watching them work together like that probably helped the E.D. pill do its work faster: I was nearly erect by the time they finished.
“I could use a bit of a break,” Brad announced, climbing onto the love seat. “Why don’t you do another daisy chain, the other way?”
“Sounds great,” I said, standing up. “But Catherine, let me ask you: do you like anal?”
Catherine’s face flushed a bit. “It’s actually my favorite thing. I was hoping you would ask.”
She stood up and moved past me to the couch, cleared the wineglasses and her scrapbook from the top of the trunk, and opened it up. She emerged with two items: a tub of baby wipes and a tube of strawberry-flavored lubricant. She went back over to the open part of the floor and knelt down, beckoning me over. She started licking the head of my cock.
“Got to get you fully erect.” She smiled.
Sara came over and helped her, casually sucking one of my balls into her mouth.
Once I was at full attention, Catherine poured some of the lube into her hand and spread it over my cock. She handed me the tube and turned away from me, bidding me to squirt a bit of it up her ass. I worked her anus open with my middle finger and then did so.
Sara got into position, on her back with her legs spread. Catherine was already diving into her muff by the time I pushed the head of my cock against her anus, and she let out a muffled moan as I slid into her.
As I fucked Cat’s ass, I locked eyes with Sara; she mouthed the words ‘I love you’ to me, and I mouthed them back to her.
As I slowly started fucking Catherine, I felt one of her hands come up between her legs and work on her pussy. It wasn’t long before all three of us had come.
When we were finished and had cleaned up a bit, Catherine suggested a “spit roast.” Sara was unfamiliar with the term, but Catherine was happy to demonstrate: she had me fuck her from behind, standing up, while she gave Brad head; I shot my load into Catherine’s pussy, and Brad shot his all over Catherine’s face.
Sara was eager to give it a try, with the positions reversed, Brad fucking her and her sucking my dick; when I shot my load, Sara swallowed every drop, like she normally does.
Brad next suggested a “pie eating contest.” Catherine joined Sara on the couch, and Brad and I ate each other’s spouse out, the winner being the one who got his partner off first. (Brad won.)
Brad then joined Sara on the couch, and Catherine and I went back to the open part of the floor. After a bit of making out, Sara pushed Brad onto his back and mounted his cock, while I pushed Catherine onto her back and started fucking her missionary style.
Those would be the last acts of the night for all of us: Sara and Brad fell asleep on the couch, with her lying on top of him, and Catherine and I fell asleep side-by-side on the floor, with my arms wrapped around her.
Brad’s phone woke us at six a.m., too early for a Saturday, in my opinion. Still, we roused ourselves and started to get dressed. (Sara had never taken off her stockings, but the rest of us were nude.) Catherine asked us if we had enjoyed ourselves, and after glancing at each other, Sara and I both nodded and said, “Hell yeah!” in unison.
Brad then informed us that they were having another dinner party that night and that we were welcome to join them; Catherine added that two other couples would be joining us, also followers of the lifestyle. Before I could answer, Sara said we’d think about it, and we took our leave.