‘Hope you enjoyed the show?’
‘Congratulations, my dear,’ the old man told her. ‘You excelled yourself tonight.’
He pulled her towards him and tenderly kissed her small strip of pubic hair, breathing in her scent. Then, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a wedding ring, which he passed to her. Kara slipped it on her finger.
‘I get little pleasure these days,’ he went on. ‘But that was outstanding. I might not be able to satisfy your physical needs myself any more, but it’s a joy to watch someone else do so. And he seemed particularly capable in that department.’
‘He was. Outstanding. Did you get the pictures?’
‘More than enough. If those bastards think they can buy me out, they’ve got another thing coming. I refuse to hand my life’s work over to some tawdry American chain. At breakfast he’ll be hand-delivered an envelope containing the best images, and the accompanying note will make it clear that both his wife and chairman shall receive the same unless he backs away from this deal. You did a fine job.’
Kara kissed the top of her husband’s head. Before his stroke he’d been a dynamic, ruthless businessman who’d built up an international portfolio of high-end hotels and retail outlets. She’d worked as his legal consultant, and their ensuing affair had resulted in marriage. Despite his obsession with business, he’d been a compassionate and loving partner. He might only be a shell of that man today, but Kara still cared about him. In return, he had no doubts as to his wife’s abilities. She’d inherit his legacy, and as major shareholder, would take control of all operations.
As he replayed the moment of her orgasm on the television monitor, Kara took a certain pride in his pleasure. Some might have found it perverted, but to her their Saturday night amusements had become the most natural thing in the world. There had been plenty of lovers, and plenty of shows in front of the reflective glass, but none had been as important as this.
When Kara stopped to think about it, there was little she couldn’t bring herself to do for her husband, or for her future.
Date Night
by Mary Borsellino
Her name was Amanda – not Amy, not Mandy, always Amanda – and I wanted to watch Frank fuck her from the first moment I met her.
She was the new girl at my office, working in the accounts department, and she was exactly the sort of girl Frank liked (when he didn’t like girls like me, that is). Amanda was petite and fine-boned, with a peaches-and-cream complexion and strawberry blonde hair which curled around her sharp little face and long, slim neck.
She laughed often and had a crooked, slightly sardonic smile, and drank her coffee black with sugar. I liked her instantly and completely, and told Frank about her as soon as I got home from work that day.
I’m a little taller than Amanda and a lot less thin. Not in a miserable self-loathing way, of course – my curves are lush and beautiful, and Frank adores them. I have dark brown hair, long but kept tied back from my face usually. My eyes are a light hazel. Frank’s are as well, so I suppose if we have children some day they’ll be bound to inherit that trait. The rest of the mix between our genes will be less predictable.
Frank is tall and broad, and makes me feel tiny beside him. He has a neatly trimmed beard of a sandier, more golden blond than Amanda’s hair. His own hair is the same shade as his beard, shot through with the first strands of silvery grey. He’s older than me by 15 years, and I’m 35. He doesn’t look 50, but there’s a distinguished wisdom in his expressions sometimes which makes me feel like the naughty young student who has somehow managed to seduce the professor.
Amanda wasn’t the first woman I’d wanted to watch my husband bed, by any means, but she was one of the most exciting to pursue. I began to find out little pieces of information about her, like a spy learning the background Intel on a mark.
‘Mark and I got married last September,’ she told me one morning when we were catching a few moments of fresh air during our break. ‘We wanted to wait until he finished his degree. I was such a wild girl before him – I know it’s hard to believe that, now.’
Amanda chuckled self-consciously, tucking some hair behind her ear and ducking her head away from my gaze. As if she was worried I’d laugh at her or something. But she wasn’t anywhere near as boring and sedate as she seemed to think she was. There was a subtle sensuality to her movements, a richness in her laugh, that spoke volumes about secret facets of her personality.
‘In fact,’ she went on. ‘I’ve joked with him sometimes that I stole his innocence. He’s only two years younger than me, really, but I was his first girlfriend. I couldn’t believe it when he told me that; how could someone as beautiful as him be ignored?’
I’d seen the photo of Mark she kept in her wallet. Like Amanda, he had an unassuming, mild sort of face, the kind that is more pleasant than compelling. I understood how he could have been ignored by the girls of his school and university; the charms of a man like him were only visible to an eye like Amanda’s, just as her beauty was apparent to me but hidden from most.
‘He didn’t steal your innocence in return?’ I asked, already having a fair guess as to what her answer would be.
Another throaty chuckle. ‘Not exactly.’
I could have made a move then, an arch overture hinting at the delights which Frank and I could offer the younger couple, but I left things as they were and filed the newly discovered information away for later use.
Frank heard all about the conversation that evening, my words broken by stutters and gasps for air as he bent me over the arm of one of our soft leather couches and entered me from behind. My crisp pinstripe skirt was shoved up to my hips, the fabric bunching up in unrefined wrinkles as his broad hands held me exactly where he wanted me. My tights were a tangle at my ankles, along with my black satin panties, and I was so wet and ready that I felt as if all the blood in my body was flushing the plump lips of my labia, making them fat and slick and purple.
I moaned, I bit back screams, I came and came. And between the unrelenting, almost cruelly wonderful waves of ecstasy, I told Frank about Amanda and about Mark.
‘She told me they have a weekly date night. They go to a film and then a late dinner,’ I managed to grunt out, the short nail of his thumb flicking back and forth over my clit as he fucked me hard.
‘Date night? Kinky?’ Frank joked, his own voice breaking a little as another orgasm made me clench down hard around his cock.
‘I think we should gatecrash them,’ I decided. ‘Sound like a plan?’
‘An excellent plan,’ Frank agreed. After that, we gave up on talking, and let our baser instincts take control.
And so we did as we’d planned, and invited ourselves along to Amanda and Mark’s date night. It was easy enough to show up at the same movie theatre I knew they went to, and to feign surprise at running into them. There was a suspicious cast to Amanda’s eyes as she looked at us, but that didn’t deter me: the charade had always been largely for Mark’s sake, because I thought it was fairly likely that Frank and I could have had Amanda in our bed without any pretence at all. It was her husband who required seducing.
I sat beside him in the darkened theatre, let my leg brush against his with each of my movements, let myself arch and stretch in just the right way to make my chest thrust forward. My nipples were hard, pressing against the silk lining of my dress, and I let myself make a small purr of pleasure at the chill of the air conditioning against them. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and the sensation was making it harder and harder to concentrate on the plot of the film.
After the credits rolled, I stretched my arms above my head and said, ‘I think I need a cigarette. Anyone want to come with me?’
As I suspected she would, Amanda just gave me a small, crooked grin and shook her head. ‘I’m good. How about Frank and I wait here, and you two go?’
So Mark and I headed out for the roof-top parking lot, underneath a scatter of stars and right in the path of the wind.
‘
Amanda’s told me about you,’ Mark said as we lit our cigarettes and inhaled happily. ‘And your husband, though she hasn’t met him before tonight.’
‘All good things, I hope,’ I joked gently. It was like trying to catch a skittish rabbit. If I came on too strong, I’d frighten him off completely.
‘She says she thinks you might be swingers,’ he replied, and there was something in his voice that told me the unspoken half of his story: these conversations between them had taken place in their bed, after fucking. Or perhaps even during, judging by the excited glimmer in Mark’s eyes.
‘What do you think?’ I asked. ‘Think she’s right?’
He laughed. He sounded a little nervous, but not so much that he was going to back down.
‘I think we’re skipping dinner,’ he said.
Our bedroom is large and comfortable and furnished in simple, no-nonsense style: it has a big bed, and a closet set into one wall, and an en-suite bathroom, and that’s it.
Amanda was clearly more at ease with the situation unfolding than Mark was, so I let her and Frank take the first initiative and move towards the bed, while I pressed Mark up against the solid wood of the now-closed bedroom door and kissed him gently, trying to be as soothing and unthreatening as possible. Finally, after what seemed an age to my already maddened blood, I felt him begin to properly relax, for him to harden against my hip.
I pulled my dress up over my head and started to unbutton his shirt. He did his best to help with the task but his fingers were clumsy, fumbling, so I pushed them away and did the work myself. When he was naked to the waist, I sank to my knees and unzipped his fly, slipping his pants down and off and then following them with his shoes and socks.
He smelled clean and neat, but with an edge of something sharper – this was the sort of boy that a girl like Amanda fell in love with, after all. There were secret complexities to him, secrets in the hitches of his breath and the hectic flush tinting his delicate cheekbones.
‘Amanda said she was your first girlfriend,’ I remarked, looking up at him from my position in front of him, letting my hands roam restlessly over the sparse dark hair on his pale thighs. The front of his navy blue boxer-briefs was tented, straining where his cock pushed out.
Mark was trembling, ever so slightly. I thought it was probably from the effort of holding himself still, of not arching into my touch. His restraint was charming and infuriating all at once.
I’ve never been one for restraint myself, and that moment was no exception. My mouth was already watering from greedy lust. ‘Mark?’ I prompted, letting one of my hands slide up over the fabric of his underwear. Over the leg, as far from his aroused penis as I could force myself to be (I wanted him so much my self-control was shaky at best), up to the elastic waistband. I began easing it down slowly, over skin that shivered with desire at my touch.
‘Yes,’ he choked out. ‘Amanda was my first.’
‘Kind of like learning to drive on a Ferrari,’ I smirked. ‘You must be something special to get a girl like that.’
I rubbed my thumb over the now-bared crease of his hip, then followed the same line with my nose. Smelling, rutting. The scent of him was stronger here, less complicated.
Mark was watching Amanda and Frank. They were quite the sight to behold, golden on golden, her compact thighs spread across his broader hips, riding him in graceful rocking thrusts. Her head was thrown back, her breasts straining against the black lace of the bra still covering them, Frank’s fingertips pressed against the curve of the small of her back.
I sucked a wet kiss against Mark’s thigh, jolting his attention back to me, reminding him that his wife wasn’t the only one who was going to get her brains fucked out tonight.
Mark’s knees trembled violently, threatening to buckle. I was charmed and flattered by the involuntary response, even as it made him blush and stammer with apparent shame. I shushed his apologies away and stood, leading him over to the unoccupied side of the bed, where I guided him down to sit on the edge.
I could have had him lie down, next to Frank, and climbed atop him, but now that I’d given myself the thought of sucking Mark’s cock I couldn’t easily shake the anticipation for it. The fucking could wait for another night. I was determined this would be but the first of many such adventures between the four of us.
I sank down again, the sensation of carpet under my knees enough to send a jolt of want shooting straight down from my belly. It’s amazing how powerful sense-memories can be, when we know they’re probably the prelude to something wonderful.
A lot of people don’t like sucking cock. They’ll do it in exchange for a back rub, or because it’s their husband’s birthday, or for one of a thousand other reasons. But they don’t like it.
Not me. I love it. I love the weight in my mouth, the taste, the way my jaw begins to ache after a little while, the slickness of spit on my lips. I love the noises men make when I do it, like the strangled moan Mark gave when I swallowed him down in one movement.
With one hand, I held his thighs steady. I used the other to play with his balls, to stroke the skin just behind. He was gripping the edge of the bedspread, white-knuckled, and so I pulled back and let his cock slip from my lips with a spit-shiny pop, looking up into his dilated eyes.
‘You can pull my hair, it’s all right,’ I assured him, and slid back down. My own sex was throbbing, almost painfully turned on, but I resisted the urge to slip a hand inside my panties, to match the movement of my head stroke for stroke. After I come hard I get lazy and selfish, and I knew that if I came now it would be a hard one. So I held off, letting my desire spiral up and up to dizzying heights as I sucked Mark’s cock.
He lost control fast, the sounds and scents of Amanda and Frank’s continued screwing making it seem like the whole world around us was sex, heat and want and need. Mark’s already shaky grasp on his better nature was no match for an atmosphere like that, and after a few minutes his hands were knotted in my hair, his hips snapping up in uncontrolled little jerks each time I made my throat ripple in a swallow around the head of his cock.
I rocked a little, back and forth on my knees, letting my whole body enjoy the slow throbs of lust which pulsed through me with each heartbeat. I could feel Mark’s heartbeat too, faster than my own, in the thick vein on the underside of his cock. I pressed my tongue up against that pulse, as if to taste the crackling electricity of his life force, and that small motion was enough to set off the climax that had been building in him.
He slid off the edge of the bed, pulling me close against him, the sweat on his narrow chest sticking us together as he licked into my mouth, tasting himself. His tongue was a slick rasp against my swollen, sensitised lips, and I moaned into his mouth.
Mark’s fingers, thinner and more tentative than Frank’s had ever been against my pussy, pressed against the soaked fabric of my underwear, rubbing in an unrelenting rhythm that made my eyes roll back in my head and my teeth bite down hard on the meat of his shoulder. I came hard, my hands clutching at his upper arms, my knees still pressed against the carpet.
We sat there together, a breathless tangle of clammy limbs, for a long moment. Our bonelessness was interrupted by Amanda, who leaned over the edge of the bed and tilted Mark’s head back so she could give him a sloppy, awkward-angled kiss. Her hair was a messy halo around her head and she was still half-draped across Frank’s reclining form.
‘All our date nights should be this good,’ she declared happily. ‘What do you think, sweetie?’
Mark laughed softly, the love he had for Amanda clear in his eyes as he stared at her. ‘I think I tend to agree,’ he replied, and helped me to my feet so we could join the others on the bed.
My Old Dress
by Gary Philpott
I had forgotten about my old dress until the night Carol and her new boyfriend came over. She lived in Singapore, but was on her annual trip to see her family. Knowing she could only stomach her mother in small doses, I invited the two of them over to
us for dinner.
Carol and I go back a long way, all the way back to our wild days when we used to go out on the pull together. The only thing that seemed to have changed from my point of view was the fact that she had graduated from one-night stands and two-week flings, to relationships which fizzled out after six months or so. Her latest guy was a Kiwi called Rob. And like all Carol’s men, he was gorgeous. My hard drive contains sufficient emailed photographs of him to testify to that fact. I often loiter on one in particular. He is on a hotel balcony wearing just a pair of boxers, a pair of boxers that failed to hide his hard-on. My mind often ponders upon what happened after that photo was taken. It has even been known to lure Mr Buzz out of my drawer.
The thing about Carol is that she has the feminine attributes to attract good looking men, and the sex drive to keep them for as long as she wants. They have to be able to take the pace mind.
My own desire to turn men’s heads again is what led to a particularly raunchy Saturday night. My fitness routines and healthier diet had been on the go for two years, and they were certainly paying dividends.
When the evening arrived, things went pretty much as one might expect during the course of the meal. We caught up on each other’s news, told a holiday tale or two, and even dared to venture onto the subject of politics. It was only when we moved through to the sitting room that things got interesting.
‘I still can’t get over how good you look,’ exclaimed Carol, as I opened the obligatory pack of chocolate mint wafers.
‘It was hard work, but well worth it.’
‘And how about you, Nigel, do you think it was worth it?’
‘Definitely, I can hardly keep my hands off her.’ He laughed and planted a hand on my bum.
As I held out the box, Carol took two. She popped one into her mouth and held the other up in front of Rob’s lips. Her hand moved to his groin at exactly the moment he jerked his head forward to snap the chocolate away with his teeth.
20 erotic swinging and swapping stories Page 3