Let's Swing

by Piquette Fontaine

  Chapter 2

  Derrick and I had been running our Bed and Breakfast for... I don't know... Three years now? But we'd only been sleeping with our customers for the past few months or so. Despite how the notion of sleeping with one's customers may sound, it really wasn't anything quite like you might think it is. Don't fool yourself into drawing a connection between what we were doing and sex work, or prostitution, nothing like that. I don't make any moral judgments about anyone in that line of work, but it's never been something I would consider for myself personally.

  No, the reasons for wanting to sleep with guests was an entirely personal fulfillment, a kink if you will, that had been in my head to some extent or another from very early on in the game, but had taken some considerable degree of convincing for my husband to get on board with the idea.

  See, there are multiple facets of how exactly the idea for a B and B got started in my head.

  Innocently enough, there was, first and foremost, the memory of having served my mother breakfast in bed as a kid. I'd always loved feeling like I was useful around my own house, and it was charming to think I was doing something special for someone, spoiling them, with luxury, even if it was only just toast and orange juice, simple things like that that I'd served them.

  Yet, even back then, during the days when the dream had been a rather simple one, my services hadn't been without their share of awkward incidents. For instance, on at least a couple of occasions, when I thought I would surprise my mother by serving her in bed unannounced, it turned out that my stepdad had also taken it into his head that he would serve her in his own special way that morning, if you catch my drift, and the two of them would scramble at the sight of me, trying to preserve some shred of decency and keep me from knowing what was going on, but of course, it wasn't all that hard to figure out.

  And then, similarly, my experience during college tended to feed into my notion of eroticism as far as shared living spaces were concerned. I had this roommate who, I'll be honest, fell safely into the label of being highly promiscuous, and on more than one occasion I would find myself in the room with her while she and any number of her boyfriends were sweating the sheets together, essentially in full view of yours truly, a bobbing lump in the blankets indicating the man's form as he ground himself in and out of her tight little body, leaving her moaning at the top of her damn lungs, so that keeping up the pretense of wearing headphones while studying on my part was made more and more vain with each throbbing, wet stroke.

  Hell, sometimes, once they were finished, lying there naked and heaving beneath the covers, but their heads poking out, the man would look over to me, smirking, and say jokingly, “Hey sexy, how would you like to come over here and join the two of us for round two?”

  I would laugh, as though I considered the proposition preposterous, and generally I would flip the bird to whatever guy it would happen to be. He would laugh in return, and then he would resume smothering himself in my roommate's tits, all the while I secretly wished that I might have had the nerve to actually join in the fun, to give into that naughty, kinky side of myself, though it would take quite some time more before I would manage to surrender myself so thoroughly...

  There was even a time where I couldn't really stay at a hotel without thoughts of kinky, depraved sex slipping into my head. I was curious, incredibly so, as to who had been in this bed before I'd been, who'd had sex in the same bed in which I'd now lay, and how filthy was it to consider such depraved, glorious thoughts...

  And God, what the hell was wrong with me, I wondered?

  I guess, for a lack of a better way to put it, I had begun to become rather obsessed with the concept of shared, sexual, domestic spaces. I had a high sex drive, a vivid imagination, and I'd become rather enthusiastic about the notion of exploring that side of my personality more in-depth, even as I maintained a front of being completely “normal” sexually. I supposed I probably fell into the realm of being pansexual when I was really honest with myself, open to just about any arrangement I could envision when it came to the bedroom, and all I needed was the right opportunity to force myself into really giving into those deep, seedy cravings of mine.

  Derrick, as far as I was concerned, had seemed like something very close to the perfect man from the very first date I'd been on him, sexy and open-minded, understanding and supportive and after we were married, we began to allow ourselves to explore our inner kinksters to our heart's content.

  I don't know what you would call us, exactly... Swingers, maybe? Or, partners in an open marriage? This seems relatively accurate, but we did make sure to run by our sexual choices by one another before we gave into temptation, just as a way of avoiding any problems that might arise should a bad, or particularly stressful coupling arise on either of our behalves.

  No rifts had ever really formed between us throughout that period of experimentation, and it wasn't until these recent months, marking the beginning of our B and B rendezvous, that something seemed to trouble Derrick somehow, even though he wouldn't be completely open with me about what it was.

  At any rate, it was evening now. We had a very rare weekday guest, a very attractive businessman who'd shown up that afternoon and who was now lodging comfortably up above our heads after having had dinner with us about an hour before. We'd been getting a lot of these weekday guests as of late, quite the influx of them, in fact, which was quite a change from days past. So I wondered whether, quite possibly, Derrick and I's reputation for, ahem, mingling with our guests might have begun to spread around.

  I feel like maybe I should point out here that the two of us didn't necessarily go to bed with our guests, not all the time. It wasn't something that was, like, an “official” service that we offered. Our willingness to swing completely depended upon the individual or individuals in question who happened to be staying and we only offered up the more lurid delicacies of our bodies in the event that there was an attraction on our end. We had two separate breakfast menus that we offered to customers depending upon their apparent fuckability, one with a listing at the bottom that said, “Ask about our Super Delight Special.” There was a photo next to it featuring a long, phallic sausage, surrounded on either side by two eggs, and its tip moving in tantalizingly close to the hole of donut in the center. It was, of course, plain as day what the intent was in placing it there, but there still remained a level of deniability should the guest(s) in question be offended by it. Sort of like in those animated movies when there's, like, dirty words written in the stars, and the filmmakers can just sort of shrug their shoulders and say it was a coincidence.

  Anyway, the man who'd been staying here tonight, at least in my humble opinion, seemed the epitome of delightful fuckability, and Derrick and I had given him the more suggestive menu in the event that he decided he might just feel up for screwing around a bit this evening.

  I was sitting at the table, doing some accounting biznass, when suddenly the telephone rang (one of those old-fashioned corded phones, for the record, adding to the quaint, cozy feeling of the house). I saw that the call was coming from upstairs, and I cleared my throat, and picked up, in a hotel receptionist tone: “Hello, Mr. Collier. Is there something I can help you with this evening? Did you decide what you wanted for breakfast tomorrow morning, maybe?”

  “Um, yeah,” came his muffled voice over the receiver. “I was actually just looking at the menu here... Could you tell me what the Super Delight Special is, exactly? I'll be honest... I've heard some rumors about this place... There's a chance I might be interested in something like that, if what I've heard is true...”

  I smiled, almost blushing, hot under the collar at the chance to get in this classy stud's pants...

  God, I was insatiable...

  “Yes sir...” I said, cutting directly to the chase, but nonetheless trying humorously to retain my professional, matter-of-fact sounding air. “The Super Delight Special, is me, coming up, and sucking on your cock for you... Or riding you... Or whatever it is you thin
k you might enjoy... Or, you know, my husband could suck your cock... Or, both of us could-”

  “Send your husband up,” said Mr. Collier, and suddenly I felt largely deflated. I'd really been looking forward to getting to know him a little better, and had apparently misread him, not even coming close to detecting his interest in a same sex rendezvous.

  But oh well, I thought... The customer's always right, as they say.

  “Right away, Mr. Collier,” trying to stay as lighthearted and cheerful as I could under the mildly disappointing circumstances, and the phone clicked back onto the receiver upstairs.

  I sighed, and went to fetch Derrick, who was busy snoozing away in our Having had sex twice that morning, he'd basically been exhausted and tired looking all day, and Mr. Collier's arrival that afternoon had kept him from taking a breather until maybe an hour or so ago. I wasn't exactly sure, when the two of us had been discussing whether we'd wanted to seduce our new guest, why Derrick had responded positively to the proposition given his state of exhaustion at the time. But, he was apparently up for it, and so despite my hesitance to do so, I gently stirred him awake, brushing my hand across his cheek, until gradually he began to grunt awake.

  “Babe... Mr. Collier wants to have sex with you... Are you up for it? What should I tell him?”

  “Mm...” Derrick grunted, as this news had awoken him, and his eyes flew quickly open. He stirred from beneath the covers. “I'm up... I'm up...” And, I could see from the huge lump in his pants (which he hadn't bothered to change out of prior to plopping into bed), that he was indeed very, very up- although, it was of course very possible that this was just morning wood, given that he'd scarcely had a minute's notice to even let the mental image of fucking Mr. Collier to sink in for himself.

  “So... Should I tell him you'll be up?”

  “Yeah... He wants just me, you said?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I shrugged, trying not to let my disappointment at this show.

  “Oh... Okay then... Well, tell him I'll be up in, like twenty minutes. I need to get cleaned up first.”

  “You sure you're up for it?” I said, a little bit skeptical given his present demeanor. “I mean... You do know this isn't any sort of like, obligation or anything for our customers... It's completely about whether we want to do it or not.”

  “No, I'm good babe. I want to. The guy was pretty hot, I've gotta say. I'm just not all the way woken up yet. I'll be good to go once I shower and slip into something more... Comfortable...”

  I laughed at this as he gathered up a change of clothes under his arms, and he kissed me on the mouth.

  “Brush your teeth while you're at it, hon. You kinda stink...”

  He flipped me off as he stepped from the room in the direction of our downstairs bathroom, and I had to laugh again. Derrick's bisexuality was a fascinating subject for me, not to mention highly tantalizing and arousing. It was so strange... Any time we weren't in the direct vicinity of fucking going on, you might never have gotten it out of the man that he wasn't as straight as a goddamn board. He didn't eye men the same way he eyed women, or at least not in my own presence, and so when I'd first found out about his hunger for man meat early on in the exploration period of our open marriage, I was as flabbergasted as you might imagine. That man could take a cock as well as any woman I knew, just as readily as he could get a girl like me cumming her lights out with his most exquisite touch.

  I loved to watch him have sex with other men... It drove me fucking crazy whenever it happened, and I was, admittedly, rather disappointed by the double blow that Mr. Collier hadn't been interested in me watching while the two of them sweated the sheets together.

  But, I will admit, a bit unethically, that I hung around outside the door to his room for a bit after Derrick had gone inside- not with my ear to the paneling, or anything like that, mind you- and between what I heard and what Derrick told me about it afterward (the two of us loved the spiciness of swapping sex stories with one another), I managed to piece together a fairly accurate picture of went on behind that bedroom door, atop that newly changed bedspread, between my husband and another man.

  “So... You like men,” said Derrick, sitting down gently on Mr. Collier's bed, smiling as he looked into his eyes.

  “I like some men...” replied Mr. Collier- or Richard, which was his actual name, and probably a bit easier to go by during a scene of passion than “Mr. Collier.”

  Derrick smiled. “So you're experienced... Are you seeing anybody?”

  “My wife,” he said, emphasizing this bit, “doesn't know that I do this, sometimes when I'm on business... And I would prefer it that things stay that way...”

  “Of course,” said my husband, smiling at him, leaning in as he did so. “Discretion is foremost in what my wife and I are doing here. Let's just say, that this will be our...” (peck) “Little...” (peck) “Secret...”

  The two men began to kiss on the mouth, lightly, but with a wet, intense heat, that even from this side of the door, got me tingling and trembling with desire, making me wish so badly that I could watch the proceedings, but at the very least, I supposed I could paint quite the vivid mental picture regardless.

  “Ohhh.... Oh yeah... Oh God.... Yes...” Derrick was slathering Rick with kisses now, sliding his hands all over his body as he rubbed and squeezed and caressed him. He began to rock his pelvis up against our guest, dry humping him with his stiff, erect penis through the layers of both men's pants, and his legs were wrapped around Rick's sides, pinning him down against the bed. Derrick seized hold of his hands, pushing Rick's arms up over his head like a set of handcuffs, and made him a servant to his love, completely subordinate to hi every domineering whim.

  “Yes... Yes... Yes... Yes...”

  God, this guy was really getting his kicks in... I wondered just how goddamn repressed these homosexual impulses of his really happened to be, and whether he really preferred his commitment to his wife over these random encounters, or whether he was just too senselessly ashamed of his sexuality to embrace his true self?

  But of course, it was none of my damn business...

  My husband, at any rate, was beginning to peel the man out of his clothes, unbuttoning his dress shirt slowly, agonizingly, rubbing his hands all over the taut contours of the man's fit, sexy physique.

  “Yes... Yes... Oh God, I love you...”

  I know he pretty much said this last bit in the passion of the moment, but I was torn between a quick, sudden stab of jealousy at his words, and a desire to bust out giggling. I behaved myself, though, and tried to continue being swept up in the sounds and imagery of what was going on a few mere feet away from me.

  Both men, before long, were down to nothing but their underwear, Richard in his boxers, and Derrick in a tight black man thong he'd slipped into specifically for the purpose of Richard's seduction. His exquisite package bulged, nearly making Dick's eyes water at the sight of his... Well, his dick...

  And suddenly, Richard groaned so loudly that he might have been standing right next to me, speaking in my ear, as Derrick plunged his hand down his underwear, creeping though the thick tangle of the man's pubic hair, and seizing a firm, vicious handful of his aroused, stiff as a board anatomy.

  He pulled Richard's cock out into the open, and began to stroke it firmly, pumping his grip harder, harder, harder, feeling it expand, harden between his fingers, until it was so swollen, so throbbing and veiny, that clear sticky streams of jizz began to flow in abundance down the engorged shaft.

  My husband smiled up at him, and opened his lips wide, bending down. He began to suck on Richard's cock, much as I'd done for him just that morning, with skills that I knew, from watching him deep throat other men, not to mention his oral skills when working on my own wet pussy, were expert and exquisite, to say the very least of it. His lips smacked as he strobed along that long, thick shaft, twisting his tongue around every inch of the thing, sliding it through his scrotum and nibbling lightly, playfully on his balls as he
did so. He slid his hands beneath the warm body of his underling, his fingers curling, sinking into Dick's ass for support as he choked himself on his cock, nostrils flaring, head bobbing, nodding rhythmically, gagging on him, but continuing like a real champion in spite of the fact.

  “Ohhhh, baby... Aw, fuck yeah...” At this point, old Dickie got just a little bit too excited, and began bouncing his ass up and down on the bed with enthusiasm, stabbing Derrick repeatedly in the throat with his cock, in a manner that was neither pleasurable for my husband nor himself. Realizing this, though, he cooled himself down quickly enough, settling back into place as my hubby's mouth continued to slide up and down along his cock, and gradually, he began to push him far, far beyond the limits of what he could stand.

  “I'm gonna cum... I'm gonna cum... I'm gonna cum...”

  My husband, at this, pulled back ever so slightly, opening his mouth wide, and sticking his tongue out, to receive whatever load Richard might have in store for his pretty, willing little face. He splooged all over Derrick, then, throbbing as he continued to stroke his cock, splashing the thick, sticky stuff across his cheeks, tangling it in his eyelashes and hair, and by the time it was all over, getting only a relatively small fraction of the stuff into his open, receptive mouth.