SWING! Adventures in Swinging by Today's Top Erotica Writers

by Jacqueline Applebee

“That’s Mars up there.” Beryl pointed at the sky, to a bright star with a red tint.

  “Think there’s life up there?” Art said.

  “Mars? Or elsewhere?”

  “Mars.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “What do you think?” Art asked me.

  “As long as they don’t invade us,” I said, “I don’t care.”

  “I’m glad you’re not mad,” he said.

  “I’m not mad,” I said. “I keep telling myself I should be. But I’m not.”

  “It’s good that you’re not,” Beryl said. “It means you’re growing. It means you’re moving in the direction I am, and that makes me happy.”

  Art waded through the water, to her direction. She giggled. He backed her against the Jacuzzi wall. They kissed. I sipped my glass of wine and watched him kiss her. I watched him lift her body up, sit her on the edge of the Jacuzzi, spread her legs, and go down on her. Beryl liked this. She ran her fingers through his wet hair and made familiar sounds of pleasure. I knew those sounds like a distant cousin one has fond memories of. She leaned back, propping herself on her elbows, letting Art work his tongue between her legs, his hairy hands rubbing her stomach and breasts. She looked at me and said, “Come here and stick that dick in my mouth.”

  I got out of the water. The hair on my body was matted, I was dripping. I liked walking about like this, my cock pointing the way. I crouched before Beryl so she could take me in her mouth as Art continued to eat her pussy, grunting sounds coming from his throat.

  We then moved away from the Jacuzzi, to a lounge chair, where she sucked on us both: Art and I standing close, almost touching skin, Beryl going from one cock to another. I could smell Art’s body. I could smell the musk from his crotch, and I wondered if I was emitting any odors he could sense. Needless to say, the smell of sex permeated the immediate air around us.

  We took turns fucking my wife. Art went first. I wanted to watch them; watching them made me want her all the more.

  “Whore,” I whispered in her ear when it was my turn.

  “Yeah,” she said, “talk dirty to me.”

  When we went to the bed, Beryl wanted us both inside her at the same time. “One in my kitty,” she said with a seductive voice, touching herself, “and one in my booty.”

  * * *

  “I have hope for us,” she said later.

  We were lying in bed, alone. The sex had been good. I remembered a night, not a month ago, when we were in bed together, and she said, “We should just have wild sex right now, that’d solve all our problems,” but neither of us could do it.

  “That’s good,” I said.

  “I really do.” She kissed me.

  I kissed her back.

  “I feel so sexual, so alive again. I love you but I want to fuck more men. I want to fuck a lot of men. Will you help me do this?”

  * * *

  She could have done it by herself, or with Art, but she wanted me involved, and I wanted to be involved. And Art, of course, wished to be there too.

  It started with the gang bang. Art made the arrangements for this, being the resourceful fellow that he is, getting the guys Beryl had fucked at The Party together for another go at it. There were nine of them in all, more than I had originally imagined. Had my wife really fucked nine men that night? I suppose so. Ten, including Art. Eleven, including myself.

  If I ever thought that what happened was just a wild fantasy, or a dream, I have the evidence on videotape. It was, yes, Art’s idea to capture this night for posterity. When he suggested it to Beryl, she got this wild look in her eyes and said, “Yes.” I was beginning to know that look better and better. I wanted her to say no. I wanted her to say no because I liked the idea myself.

  (A number of times, alone, feeling lonely, thinking of the life I once had, I will put that tape into the VCR, and watch. I will watch my wife fuck all those men in a single session, fucking them in every combination possible.

  Others have watched her. Hundreds, thousands, all over the world. This is really what this story is about.)

  * * *

  It was Art’s idea—again—to create a web site and place stills from the gangbang video on it. He created the web page, and allowed people to access it for free. In a matter of days, the site was getting thousands of hits. Art said this was a combination of posting stills to various news groups with sexual themes, and the help of a number of search engines.

  After a month, he—or we—announced that the whole video tape could be purchased for $34.95.

  In a matter of weeks, 2,000 orders came in.

  First we were just some people doing kinky things, and now we were in business.

  We were, I guess you can say, pornographers.

  III. SOLO IN THE JACUZZI, WITH MEMORY

  I was alone in the Jacuzzi. It was another clear night. That red star was indeed Mars. I stared at it. I wanted to go there. I wondered what sex life was like on Mars.

  In the bedroom, in the house, Art and Beryl were fucking. He was fucking her in the ass when I had left, and came out here, turned on the jet streams, and sat in the warm bubbling water. And closed my eyes while looking up.

  In the water, I thought about the two of them. I pictured his cock going in and out of her butt, the muscles of her sphincter contracting with each thrust. The more I thought of this, I started to become aroused. The image in my head was far more enticing than returning to the bedroom and seeing and smelling it. In my mind, I was the director, I was in control, and I made my own movie of the act.

  I also pictured scenes from the night of The Party.

  I touched myself. I had my cock in my hand, under the water, and I began to jack-off.

  I watched my semen clump in the water, floating to the top, getting caught in a whirlwind of bubbles, spinning around, blending in with water and chlorine.

  INTERMISSION: How We Met

  I met her at the recital of an experimental cellist. He was on tour for his new CD. In the first half of his performance, he presented classical pieces by Debussy and Mozart. I had difficulty listening—I kept glancing at the blonde woman who was sitting alone, across from me in the small concert hall. She was wearing black slacks and a white cotton blouse. She kept looking at me as well. We talked during the intermission. Small talk: what do you think of the cellist? Oh, he’s good. We sat together for the second half, and the cellist presented his own iconoclastic work, hooking his instrument to microphones, adding special effects, or playing along with a tape full of strange sounds. Towards the end, he did a manic solo and broke two strings. After, I asked the blonde woman—Beryl—if she’d like to go get some coffee. “No,” she said, “but how about a beer?” Two months later, we were living together. Six months later, we were married.

  IV. QUARTET

  “We’ve been approached with a business deal,” Art said on the phone. Beryl and I were both on separate phones in the house, different rooms, listening.

  “Go on,” she said.

  He said, “There’s this couple—here in the city—who have a successful on-line business. They do the same as us: sell videos and pix of them fucking, or the wife fucking some guys. Then they started to make and distribute vids of other couples. Acting as distributors, growing their business. You know? They came across our web site, and they want Beryl. I mean, they can sell five times the amount of videos we do. So they say.”

  “What does this mean?” I said.

  “More money,” Art said.

  “More money,” Beryl said, “sounds good to me.”

  * * *

  This couple—Fred and Donna—invited the three of us to dinner, to talk about the possibility of a business venture. Art drove in his own car, and was late. Beryl and I were both nervous, and we didn’t know why.

  They had a nice, modestly furnished suburban house, not the kind of place you’d think a big Internet porn outfit would be located. Fred and Donna were also the kind of couple you might see at a PTA meeting—modestly and almo
st conservatively dressed, quiet, and friendly. They were in their late thirties, attractive, and unassuming.

  Over dinner, we talked about our lives, not sex.

  I wondered why I was here. I was expecting drugs, hard booze, triple-X love acts.

  Fred suggested we go to the water.

  They also had a Jacuzzi, but this one could fit ten people. It was very nice and spacious. Fred and Donna disrobed before us, and got in. Donna was a bit on the chubby side, but had a magnificent tan and silicone-enhanced breasts. Fred, I was quick to notice, didn’t have a hair on his well-muscled body, and a dick that had to be ten inches long.

  Art stripped and jumped in. Beryl and I took our clothes off, slowly, still uncertain, and joined the party.

  We were all drinking Champagne, by the way. It always begins with some kind of party.

  “You have a great body,” Donna said to Beryl.

  “Thank you,” Beryl said.

  “I’d love to fuck you,” Donna said.

  “I’m not bi,” Beryl said.

  “Too bad,” Donna said. “But maybe Fred can fuck you. I like to watch him fuck other women.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Beryl laughed.

  “You got a look-see at his tool?” Donna asked.

  “Oh yes,” Beryl said. “I wonder if I could take it.”

  “It takes some getting used to,” Donna said. “His cock is very nice.”

  “Yeah,” Beryl said.

  Art and I looked at each other.

  “Let’s talk business,” Fred said.

  “Let’s,” Art said.

  “This past year,” Fred said, “we’ve cleared three million in sales.”

  I almost choked on my Champagne. Beryl did.

  “You’re shitting me,” Art said.

  “No,” Fred said.

  Donna smiled. “We’ll make more each year.”

  “Porn is the backbone of e-commerce,” Fred said, “and the amateur market is in a boom. A huge boom. There are dozens, hundreds of people like us making a living off pleasure. We have something many people out there want.”

  “Intimacy,” Donna said, “and love.”

  “This business saved our marriage,” Fred said. He drew Donna close to him. They held each other. They kissed. “We wouldn’t be together now,” he went on. “It added. . . excitement. It delivered us from an absolutely dull life, the same thing day after day. You know what I mean?”

  “I was ready to leave him,” Donna said. “I wanted something more.”

  “We both did,” Fred said.

  “And we found it,” Donna said.

  Beryl and I looked at each other. I moved to kiss her. She kissed me. Art looked away.

  “We like what you have,” Donna said.

  “We can get rich together,” Fred said.

  “I like the sound of that,” Beryl said.

  “Me too,” I said.

  Fred grinned. “So let’s fuck and seal the deal.”

  We all laughed.

  “Hey, buddy,” Fred said to Art, “there’s a camera in the house, and a light. Why don’t you get it?”

  Art nodded, and got out of the water. He looked lonely, walking away wet and naked. I can’t say that I felt sorry for him.

  Donna moved to me, and Beryl moved to Fred. I took Donna’s large breasts in my hands and rubbed them. Her pink nipples were pointing at me. Beryl was stroking Fred’s big dick and she said something like, “Oh my!” He sat on the edge of the spa, and Beryl did her best to take him in her mouth.

  “You want me to suck your dick too?” Donna whispered. “What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything, anything.”

  Art set up the camera.

  Donna and I got out of the water to fuck. I had her on her back, her thick legs on my shoulders. She smelled strong of perfume. She reached up and bit my nipple as I fucked her. Beryl was still sucking on Fred.

  “Hey,” Fred said, turning to me with a smile. “I think I’m about to come in your wife’s mouth.”

  Art didn’t join us. As he operated the video camera, he jerked-off. He was now an observer. I could see it on his face: something was missing. He looked lonely and I didn’t care.

  V. EPILOGUE

  Our hair was still wet when we got in the car. We were electrified. The sex had been good, the idea of success even better.

  I touched my wife’s face.

  “We don’t need Art,” she said.

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Our marriage will work, won’t it?”

  “I hope so.”

  “We can be as happy and wealthy as Donna and Fred.”

  I wanted to say that we were Donna and Fred. We’d just made love to our mirror images, and it was caught on tape.

  I started the car.

  “Turn on the heater,” Beryl said. “I don’t want to catch cold.”

  I did, and as we drove, the warmth started at our feet, and moved up our bodies and to our faces. We were holding hands the whole way.

  Home, our hair dry, we went into our own Jacuzzi and fucked in the water and under the stars, and there was only us, and it was very nice again, for awhile.

  Bravery Has its Rewards

  By Jacqueline Applebee

  I said I’d be okay about things. I said that I would be brave, but as I stepped over the threshold of an ordinary-looking house in an ordinary London street, I wasn’t so sure. The sounds of sex greeted me—I felt like an intruder, sneaking in while the owners were busy in the bedroom.

  My husband Sean ushered me deeper into the house. The lighting was low, soft Jazz played at a discreet volume, and red and black balloons were scattered everywhere. The place looked decorated for a party, and really that’s what this was—a swinger's party, with me as an anxious first-timer.

  “I can't wait,” Sean whispered. “You are going to have so much fun tonight.”

  I tried not to look at all the other guests, but I felt their eyes on me. Sean was showing me off, as he sometimes does. He swept the light wrap from my shoulders, just as we passed an older couple. The tops of my large breasts were visible in the low-cut dress I wore. The red cloth would probably match the color of my cheeks. I moved on quickly, but only managed a few steps before I felt Sean tug my hand back into his.

  “Relax, Nicky,” he said with a smile, his brown eyes twinkling with excitement. “You’re beautiful—they just want to admire you.”

  I nodded, and squeezed the hand that lay in mine. I had come here because of my curiosity, because I had fantasized one too many times about what it would be like to be with another man while my husband encouraged us along. I had no desire to cheat, to play behind his back, because the best part of my fantasy was the knowledge that Sean could see everything, and become turned on by it all. However, fantasy is not the same as reality; I was never this nervous in my dreams.

  We had talked about things for some time, but tonight all that talk would be put into practice. Sean traveled a lot up and down the country running his own assertiveness training courses, and I knew he often found comfort in the arms of other women while he was away. I would never try to make him stop, and as long as he practiced safe-sex, then I was happy that his needs were being taken care of. Jealousy is a thing that used to bother me, but just knowing that Sean is never lonely or without affection when he is away, more than makes up for any pangs I might feel. We may want to have sex with others, but we are dedicated to our relationship.

  “Where's the host?” I asked, after no one had introduced themselves as such.

  “I'm sure you'll see our hostess in a bit,” Sean replied, before nodding in the direction of a woman being groped by a man at the top of the stairs.

  “Hello, Estelle!” Sean called out, and the woman waved at him enthusiastically.

  “I'm so glad you and your lovely wife could make it, Sean!” Estelle responded breathlessly, and then returned her attention back to her friend.

  The guests seemed to be a diverse mixture of p
eople; there was a selection of ages and races too. I heard different accents, and even what sounded like German, being spoken. I smiled at that; it was good to know that swingers came from all different backgrounds. This went against the little I had researched about the lifestyle, when I knew I was definitely coming to the party. My short expedition onto the Internet seemed to reveal that swingers were only ever white, only ever middle-aged and middle-class. It was nice to know that the computer had got it wrong—instead of just one flavor, I could choose from a whole chocolate box of experiences. A gorgeous black couple inched past me, and it only reinforced the analogy—there were some luscious delights to be sampled.

  We walked through the kitchen, and then out to the small back garden where a crowd had gathered. I watched a young man bent over a woman’s lap. She spanked him to the rhythm of chants from the onlookers that surrounded them. They counted at a steady pace, their voices getting louder as they reached twenty-five, when everyone shouted out, “Happy Birthday!”

  The man rolled unceremoniously off the woman’s lap, and when he leapt up to more applause, he caught my eye. I smiled shyly at him, and then mentally kicked myself. There was no point in being coy—everyone here knew why everyone else had come.

  Sean chuckled low in his throat; he’d seen me making eyes at the birthday boy. He angled us towards the young man as he slowly walked by. The wall of reality and outright fiction began to crumble as he approached.

  “Happy birthday, Ray!” Sean called out, and Ray waved back with a smile. Just as Ray was about to move closer, another guest grabbed him, and pulled him away to where a birthday cake was being served.

  “Come on, Nicky. Let's get settled,” Sean said with a sigh, and he held my hand, pulling me back into the house. A man dressed in a maid's outfit met us half-way down a corridor. He carried a tray full of wine, and flavored condoms. He offered us a drink, and admired my earrings as we helped ourselves. I tried not to stare at the short ruffled skirt the smiling man wore, or at the stocking-tops that peeped out just below the fabric. Everyone else seemed to take things in their stride, but this was a whole new world to me. Of course I'd read about alternative lifestyles, and I knew a few gay men who worked in my organization, but I'd never socialized with them. It dawned on me that there was a whole section of people out there that I just didn't have a clue about.