But today...
Today was a deliciously lazy Sunday and for once she had no plans.
She lifted her head a little and kissed Martin’s left nipple, a gentle pressing of lips and tongue on that tiny, hard peak.
Martin grunted, and rolled his head to one side, towards her, still mostly asleep.
When was the last time they’d done this? Just the two of them?
She brushed her lips across his chest again, up towards the shoulder. Immediately, there was a stirring beneath her thigh, a pressure.
She moved her leg, reached down, took him in her hand.
Such a beautiful cock. Big enough that he really filled you, but it was more than that: the perfect shape and proportions, the head full so that you could really feel it as it slid inside and then again as he pulled back out.
She squeezed, then shifted her grip so that his shaft was lying upright against his belly, her flat hand pressing down and starting to rock gently from side to side.
Another grunt, eyes slitting open, lips parting.
She pressed against him, positioning herself so she was grinding gently against the bulge of his hip, getting that delicious contrast between firm muscle and hard bone as it pressed against her mound. Pushing, so that the protective hood of skin glided across her clit, sending little stabs of pleasure through her belly. Every slight change of position and pressure sent new sensations pulsing through her.
As she pressed on Martin’s dick, his balls pulled and rolled beneath her thigh, another intensely sensuous feeling. She’d been with Martin for so long, and yet still she was endlessly fascinated by the sensations and responses of his body.
She pressed more firmly now, as his dick approached full hardness. As she looked down the length of his body she saw the purple head pushing up towards her, the skin rolling back to fully expose the helmet shape. Now, she slid her thumb against that wet glans, running it along the slit opening and down to the sensitive ridge of skin just below the head.
“Oh babe...” It was hard to distinguish the words in that groan. He was still barely awake.
She slipped her thumb underneath his shaft so that she was able to grip him tightly. The edge of her forefinger came to lie just below the head of his dick so that even the slightest movement of her hand made that finger slide against the most sensitive parts.
She squeezed. Gently at first, and then slowly building until she was gripping hard and then... easing, easing.
She could feel his body tensing as she tightened her grip again, a hardening of muscles, a slight arching of the back, every subtle change in his body transmitted to her through the press of his hip against her pussy.
He tilted his pelvis slightly now, so that his hip rolled against her. She gasped, biting down on her lower lip as his intense dark eyes came fully open and fixed on hers.
When she squeezed this time, his head pressed back into the pillow, his mouth falling open.
As she held tight and dragged up against his shaft, skin gliding over its rock-hard core, she felt the pull of balls against her thigh. She reached the glans and slid her hand across it, slick with his juices. Sliding her grip back down his shaft again, she paused when she held only the base, his dick standing proud as she squeezed hard.
So slow...
She could tell from the desperate look in his eyes that he wanted her to do more, to dip her head and work him with her mouth or to start pumping hard and fast with that tight grip, but no... Eyes locked on his, she pressed his dick down against his belly again, pressing with the flat of her hand, teasing him with subtle shifts of pressure.
He pushed up against her hand, arching his back now so that she almost lost her position – that slow grind of pussy on hip.
Eyes still locked on his, she gave a slight shake of the head, reminding him who was in control.
His body slumped back down onto the mattress and she pushed against him, a delicious slow glide of wet pussy against hip... the give of muscles, the hardness of bones.
She ground her hand down hard and felt a throb in his shaft in response. Was he close to the edge already?
She moved now, swinging that long leg across him so she could lever herself up, straddling him with knees planted either side of his thighs, almost lying fully stretched on top of him so that her weight came down through where they joined: her pussy, the hardness of his shaft as it lay in the wet channel between her labia.
Still moving almost painfully slowly, raised on fully-stretched arms so her eyes still locked on his, she straightened even more, the movement drawing her pussy up the length of his shaft until she hit that beautifully swollen head. The ridge that marked the mushroom head of his glans glided across her clit, a sudden, intense thrill.
Tensing her thighs, she drew herself back down his length, until her pussy was pressing down on his balls, her clit hard against the base of his shaft.
That throb again!
She tensed, wondering if he could feel the squeeze of her cunt against him, and there was another pulse in response, a widening of his eyes. His jaw sagged and his mouth fell open, and then he pressed his head back into the pillow again.
She looked down at his dick emerging from where their bodies joined, lying flat against his belly. A creamy bead appeared in the narrow opening and then an instant later his shaft pulsed against her and a streak of semen shot up between them, leaving a sticky trail up his belly and across his chest. A second pulse spat more onto his belly and then she felt him start to soften.
Eye contact again.
Another slight shake of the head: he wasn’t finished yet. He still had work to do.
She drew herself up again, savoring the rapidly changing sensations as he softened. Pressing down on his shaft and feeling it start to yield against her. Grinding down hard to get that wonderful soft sliding against her clit.
Eyes still fixed on his, she straightened, drew her knees up and then shuffled up his body.
When her knees reached his shoulders she raised a leg and he wriggled down the bed, first under that leg and then under the other.
Now her smooth pussy was poised over his face.
Keeping that eye contact, she held herself above him. After a drawn out pause, she reached down with one hand while the other gripped the wrought iron bedstead.
She pressed, just fingers against her mound, the tip of her middle finger extending just far enough to get that sliding sensation of skin across clit.
She pressed again, this time sliding her hand down farther until the heel of her hand pressed against her mound and her middle finger slid between wet labia. Now she started to roll her hand from side to side, a knuckle pressing against her clit.
She was so wet! It was so horny, looking down at her hand and just inches beyond: his eyes looking back up at her, a desperate look as if he was urging her on.
She could take it no more.
She pulled her hand away and gripped the bed-frame, shuffled her knees farther apart and pressed down onto his face.
Immediately, his tongue slid inside her and his upper lip pressed against her clit. He started to push against her, a wet sliding against her clit and that tongue stabbing deep in a succession of powerful thrusts.
That sound... it was her: groaning aloud as the pressure built in her cunt, a squeezing in her abdomen, the straining ache in her thighs somehow transforming into a new kind of pleasure, one that was building relentlessly.
The groan became a loud cry and she pushed down against him. She felt that fluttering tightening in her pussy, squeezing around his tongue, and then she pulled away. She paused, then pushed down against his face again, her cunt still tightening and waves of intense pleasure sweeping through her body. Finally, her orgasm subsided and she slumped, still hanging tightly onto the bed-frame, her head swirling, dizzy with the intensity of her climax.
She pulled away, swung her leg clear so that she was no longer straddling him. She leaned down and kissed her juices from his face, then slumped against
him, her head resting on that pad of muscle between chest and shoulder, her short hair sticking to that trail of semen on his chest.
Hot.
Exhausted.
Spent.
§
He brought her breakfast. A slab of thick buttered toast and a mug of freshly ground Jamaican Blue Mountain.
It was the perfect combination: the smell of melted butter, the smooth, slightly nutty aroma of the coffee, and the scent of her own juices on her fingers.
Crumbs in the bed? She didn’t care. She’d change the bedding later, although almost certainly Martin would find time to do that before she did.
She sat, pillows heaped behind her, one leg drawn up under her; she caught his eye and broke out into a stupid smile.
He stood at the window, looking back across his shoulder at her, the light spilling in around him like a full-body halo.
“You look good,” she said.
He glanced down, as if surprised, then shrugged.
“We’re good,” he said, and she knew what he meant: this perfect morning was just a part of who they were, and how they worked. He turned, leaned back with his butt on the windowsill and folded his arms across his chest, and he really did look good. Fixing her with those dark eyes, he said, “Whatever happened to mornings like this?”
Simple words, but he’d done that thing of his again: read her so clearly, caught the exact balance of her mood. Teetering between utter happiness and...
“I love it. The club. I really do.” She didn’t need to throw in the but...
“It kind of takes over, doesn’t it? Which is fine, but it still needs to be fun, doesn’t it?”
The club had started off as... well, as a party. A couple of friends who had brought like-minded friends, and their friends. Martin and Selena’s place was perfect for it: a relatively discreet town house, away from the city center, but once inside you could see that it had been a restaurant before they’d moved here, and it still had a bar and plenty of open space. It was only natural that the party had become another party, and then a regular thing: two or three club nights a week – it had taken off quickly.
They’d thrown themselves into the project, refurbishing the public rooms, fitting them out with beds and other furniture; they’d even converted one side-room into a blackout room – no light to see, so everything was about touch, taste, anonymity.
But as the club had grown, the expenses had too, along with the logistics of keeping a place like this running.
“People kind of take it all for granted, don’t they?” Martin went on.
Selena nodded. “They don’t mean to. Most of them have no idea how much work it is, but yes, they do. Charging people a membership fee kind of establishes expectations, doesn’t it?”
The fee was nominal. That and the money from the bar’s honesty box barely even covered the day to day costs, let alone all the work they’d done to fit the club out. They’d confirmed that only a few nights ago, on what had turned out to be perhaps the least sexy club night yet...
§
In a short space of time Christina had become a familiar face – and body – at the club. She’d turned up one night on the recommendation of a friend, and quickly made the transition from hesitant club virgin to experienced, sexy temptress.
Honey blonde hair, wonderfully firm, full breasts, and vivid green eyes, there had been a spark between her and Selena from the outset, and Martin had made it very clear he was happy to stand back and see how the relationship might grow.
That night...
When Christina arrived Selena was sitting at the bar, a favorite vantage point for keeping tabs on the dynamics of a club night. Selena was in one of her favorite black corsets, her breasts pushed up invitingly; her long legs were covered with fishnet stockings that had a tie-up lace feature up the back, and the only other things she wore were a thong and a pair of simple black stilettos.
Christina had just arrived, and her eyes were still roaming up and down Selena’s body. Tonight felt like it was going to be a good one. Christina had this way of making even the simple work outfit she wore – black pencil skirt and a cream blouse, open to reveal just a little cleavage – look like a carefully designed tool of seduction.
Standing behind the bar, Martin was beaming.
“Hey,” said Selena, reaching a hand up to loop behind Christina’s head and draw her into a kiss. A soft pressing of lips, a meeting of tongues, a taste of coffee and mint.
“How’s things?” Christina asked, taking the stool next to Selena.
Sometimes all it takes is a simple comment or question to change the course of an evening.
How’s things?
Selena didn’t say a word, just sat there and felt the tears start to well up. She looked down, away from those piercing green eyes, and when she looked up again Christina had fixed her look on Martin.
He shrugged, looked from Selena to Christina, and said, “We’re struggling a bit. We never really expected this thing to take off the way it has. It’s just... a lot, you know?”
Selena picked up where Martin had tailed off. “We just started it for a bit of fun,” she said. “Us, a few friends. It was a social thing. But it’s kept on growing and the books never seem to balance, and we’re always looking over our shoulders...”
“Money trouble?” Christina asked.
Martin shrugged again. “We’ve had a few rumbles from investors,” he said. “Some of the first members threw some money into the pot to help with setting this place up. Things are tight. The place is a lot of work.”
“You want me to take a look at the books?”
Selena looked at her friend. “You sure?” she asked. Not only was she seriously sexy, Christina had a good business head. Still only in her mid-twenties, her interior design business had taken off to the extent that she had fitted out buildings for the stars and had full-page spreads in national glossies.
“Of course. I’m not making any great claims – I have people who do that kind of thing for me. But I’ve been through that whole thing of starting something up pretty much by chance and seeing it grow beyond anything I could have anticipated. It’s scary, and it’s easy for things to run away from you. Talk me through your figures so I can see if I can help. It’s the least I can do.”
And so a night that had started with a kiss and a promise of so much more turned into one spent poring over spreadsheets and invoices, and lots of Googling in an effort to establish just what the club’s legal position actually was. By about three in the morning they were exhausted. Christina insisted that things weren’t as bad as they might look, and Selena allowed herself to be persuaded just a little. Martin had already been asleep by then, lying naked on the bed while Selena and Christina worked on a laptop; now, the two women stripped, paused, fell into each other’s arms for a long, tender hug, then climbed onto the bed beside him and were asleep within seconds.
§
“You think we might lose this place?” asked Selena now.
Martin still stood leaning back against the window-frame, his arms folded across his chest.
“Christina seemed to think everything was okay,” he said. “We won’t really know anything until she has her people go through the figures, so no point in assuming the worst now, is there?”
“Yes, but...”
He was studying her, a slight smile tugging at his features. Doing that thing where he knows her so well. “You worry too much,” he said. “You dwell on things and over-think them.”
She poked her tongue out at him. “I can’t help it,” she said. “You know that.”
She pulled her leg out from under her and brushed crumbs away.
He was watching her. She met his look. When was the last time they’d had a morning like this? Slowly, she trailed a finger up her thigh.
Now, she raised one leg so that her body tilted slightly in his direction.
She let her hand slide over to the smooth skin of her pussy. He liked her waxed like that – l
iked the smooth feel, liked the visual, the unimpeded view.
His dick, still hanging down, was longer now, fatter.
She pressed that hand against herself and watched as his foreskin rolled back and his shaft started to push away from his body.
“So let’s think about it in a more positive way,” he said.
For a moment she was thrown, lost in the visual of his growing, stiffening cock and the little pulse of pleasure as she pressed down on her pussy. She raised her eyebrows, prompting him to continue.
“Let’s not think about the difficulties. Let’s think about why we did this thing in the first place, and why we’ve let it grow.” She glanced down pointedly at that phrase, and he laughed, then went on: “Let’s go back to the basics, the fun. So why did we do this? What is it that works for you, that we didn’t have before? What turns you on, babe?”
§
Christina.
That first time she’d come to the club. Hesitating on the doorstep when Martin had opened the door, Selena had taken a good, long look at her. Understated white skirt and a pale blue silk blouse, honey blonde hair tumbling down to her shoulders and those vivid green eyes. She had the look of an innocent, one who would need coaxing and coaching and even then may never return.
Selena had allowed her that double-take moment or two: the look around, the pause, and then another look, realizing that the couple kissing by the bar really did have hands inside each other’s clothing; that Patsy over there really was wearing just a thong and a tiny push-up bra; that Sunita had that look on her face because of where Sylvester had his hand. Then she stepped forward, said, “Hi, I’m Selena,” and kissed Martin on the cheek before adding, “It’s okay: like I said on the phone, we don’t use names here if you don’t want to.”
Christina’s eyes were still flitting around the room. They opened wide, suddenly startled, when Selena stepped forward and pressed her lips against hers. A pressing, a parting, a light dance of the tongue across her lips.
The first sign that there might be something more to Christina’s innocent act was when she stepped into that kiss, reaching round Selena to hold her, draw her in close, press against her. The way her hands slid down to rest on the bare skin just where Selena’s corset ended and then on down to cup and squeeze her ass.
The Swingers' Club Boxed Set: All eight cuckoldry and swinging stories in one volume Page 13
