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

by Jacqueline Applebee

  She nodded her understanding. “I totally understand. I'm quite partial to the women as well.” One slim finger slid beneath the edge of my black bikinis, stroking the smooth skin I'd just recently shaved. “Have you ever been with another woman?”

  I shook my head and her sudden smile lit up the room.

  “You don't know how much I was hoping you'd say that. I just love virgins. Why don't we go upstairs? James and I have a private room already booked. We can get a bit more comfortable and see if we can't make your first time something you'll always remember.”

  By the time we reached the private room upstairs I was contemplating calling the whole thing off. I was so worried I actually felt lightheaded. Greta shut the door and I opened my mouth to decline. Before I could say anything she pulled me into her arms and the rest of the world drifted away. Her mouth descended on mine, and I felt the liplock all the way to my toes. My every objection died then and there.

  Something soft and wet slid across the seam of my lips and I responded automatically, opening my mouth to admit Greta's searching tongue. My knees felt so weak I almost fell, but Daniel was suddenly there, helping to guide us over to the bed.

  We fell back, still kissing, as her body assumed the dominant position on top. I pulled back for a much needed breather and found Daniel and James seated near the door, their eyes glued on Greta and me. Judging by the visible erections they were both sporting they were enjoying things as much as we were.

  Greta straddled my waist, her hands reaching behind my neck to undo the strap holding the top of my dress together. As it came loose she pulled the front down, completely exposing my breasts to the cool room air and her hungry gaze. She grasped one breast in each hand, squeezing ever so gently as she ran her thumbs over my rapidly hardening nipples.

  “So gorgeous. You fit perfectly in my palm.” She leaned down and gave each tip a bit of extended attention with her mouth and tongue. The sensation shot straight to my clit. I could only groan my approval as she moved further down my body, inching my dress and panties off over my feet until I was clad in just my high heels. Her mouth followed the exact same path her hands had taken, nipping and licking until her face hovered right over the spot where I needed her the most. I wanted her to feel as good as I was but I was so on edge I wasn't sure I could move. Forming a coherent sentence took almost all my effort.

  “Wait!”

  Greta lifted her head and looked up at me. “Is something wrong?”

  I shook my head. “Yes, no, I mean . . . I want you to feel good too.”

  In response she slid one finger through my slit, pulling back to show me the wetness I already knew she'd find.

  “Don't worry so much about me right now. This first time is all about you.” She looked over at her husband fondly. “No one will go without tonight. That's one of the best parts about the Lifestyle. You get to go home and relive the experiences all over again with your partner.” She kissed me right above my pubic bone, blowing on the area afterward until chill bumps covered my arms and legs. “You and Daniel will go home tonight and fuck like bunnies, but before you do that, I want you to come all over my face.”

  She thrust two fingers deep inside my sopping wet cunt and used her lips to zero in on my aching clit.

  “Holy Fuck!” I screamed, pushing my pelvis up into her face as I rode her fingers and her tongue. Within moments I was on the verge of a powerful climax, my thighs shaking as she pushed me higher and higher. In the edge of my vision, I saw both Daniel and James with their cocks in their hands openly masturbating. James threw back his head and groaned as he shot halfway across the room, my husband following closely behind. The sight of him coming combined with the third finger Greta pushed up inside my pussy was all the stimulation I need. I came on a wail, thrashing and flailing as my body split apart and put itself back together again.

  When Greta finally came up for air her face was slick with my juices. As she licked away the remnants, I felt a goofy satiated grin spread its way across my face. I couldn't work up enough energy to worry about it. The entire experience had been better than I'd ever dared to dream.

  Greta gave me a quick kiss, sharing my taste with me before she got up and crossed over to her husband. Once there she cleaned him up with her mouth, tucking him gently back inside his pants and sharing a kiss with him afterwards as well. Daniel looked completely drained. I could totally sympathize. Greta smiled and patted him on the cheek, pointing towards my lax form on the bed.

  “She's all yours. You're a very lucky man.” She turned back towards me as she led her husband to the door. “I'm honored to have been your first. James and I come here every Saturday. If you'd like, maybe we can meet up again real soon. Next time I'll even let you be on top.”

  I could only stare as they walked out and secured the door behind them. Small, orgasmic aftershocks deep inside my womb still flowed through me and silently, I took Greta up on her offer. Daniel plopped down next to me on the bed after rearranging his clothes, looking me over to be sure I was okay. “Was it as good as you thought it would be?”

  “Yes it was.” I gave him a moment to let the information sink in before asking, “Same time next week? Maybe you could help me get dressed beforehand. I might need some help getting into that school girl uniform.”

  The silence in the room was deafening but the expectant look on my husband's face told me we'd be visiting Celebrations quite a lot in the near future.

  I was looking forward to every trip.

  Check and Mate

  By Jeremy Edwards

  “Nervous?”

  Gail nodded.

  “I understand.” Dawson patted her hand. “Just remember, you’ll be with people you trust, and no one’s going to pressure you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

  “You’re sweet. But I’m not nervous about the fucking. I’m nervous about the chess.”

  “Oh,” said Daw, looking a bit crestfallen over the fact that his solicitousness had been misdirected. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you there. Livia’s going to make short work of both of us, as far as I can foretell. Your only consolation will be in winning your game with Clement. And there’s not much challenge to that. I mean, Clement’s a genius . . . but he’s a right-brain genius.”

  “Yeah. Damn, I almost wish I could just compete against you. We’re so well matched.”

  Dawson chortled suggestively, and stroked his wife’s thigh. “But, darling, it’s a swingers’ night.”

  It had been a glorious coincidence that Gail and Daw had found out that their friends were chess players right around the time the swinging experiment had been discussed. Conversation had revealed that Livia was a chess wizard, even by Gail and Dawson’s standards, and that Clement, not to be outdone, had some swinging experience dating back to a previous marriage. “It was a number of years ago,” he had explained, “but I think I still remember how to do it.” He’d smirked charismatically at Gail as he said that, and the idea of having his body between her legs had immediately shifted from a speculative folly to a compelling contingency.

  Predictably, Livia had been the one to insist that the inaugural sessions of chess and swinging be mixed. “I don’t know how good I’ll be at fucking an auxiliary man, so I want to make sure we also do something that I have a proven talent for.” Dawson’s face had turned adorably red at this remark.

  Livia’s chess set pitted an unapologetically vivid shade of purple, luscious like a silk negligee, against a sky blue that reminded Gail of cotton panties. “Chess, to me, is not a black and white game,” Livia stated as she carried the magnificent board toward a glass coffee table. “It is as rich with ambiguity and possibility as human endeavor.”

  “Easy there, girlfriend,” Gail teased. “I said I’d screw your husband, but I never said I’d listen to your aphorisms.”

  Livia, having situated the chessboard where it belonged, rebutted Gail’s point by throwing a sofa cushion at her.

  “It’s good that
you two are drinkers,” said Clement, bearing tumblers. “Livia has suggested we play vodka chess tonight.”

  His wife cackled mischievously. “But it’s only fair if all four of us are drinking the martinis.”

  “Fine with me,” said Daw. “Just don’t laugh if I accidentally capture your king’s rook’s olive with my queen’s knight’s onion.”

  This was going to be fun, thought Gail. Dawson would make certain of that.

  They’d considered using two boards for side-by-side play, but Clement had recommended that they do one round at a time. “We want an intimate vibe, not a convention atmosphere.” No one could argue with this. “I think we all need to be focused in the same place. That goes for the whole evening.”

  Gail squirmed on the sofa as she recalled those words. The ideal of two couples collectively “focused in the same place,” making the most of an “intimate vibe,” piqued her pussy, as the first sip of martini piqued her tongue. She was a wine connoisseur, and not much of a hard-liquor fan; but vodka seemed like exactly the right thing tonight. Maybe she was more nervous than she’d realized about the fucking. If so, it wasn’t a negative kind of nervousness. She was pleasantly excited.

  She studied the two men as they settled into position at the coffee table, cross-legged on the floor. Clement’s pale eyes had always attracted her, and this evening they were set off extra-handsomely against a silver oxford shirt. She noticed how comfortable Dawson appeared, his black-denim ass on the carpet and his drink to his side. This made her feel comfortable as well.

  “Nuts?”

  Livia, assuming correctly that Gail would take her up on the offer, was handing her the dish without waiting for an answer. Livia smiled at her over the polished-wood nut bowl. It was a rare conspiratorial grin from a friend who was close to Gail, in a way, but usually too fascinated by her own mental trajectories to show signs of intimacy.

  Gail noticed, not for the first time, what a finely detailed beauty Livia possessed—from her thin nose and curls of chestnut hair; to her petite breasts; to her sensuous hips, and beyond. Sitting next to Livia on the couch, Gail could smell a delicious cocktail of subtle perfume and sweet skin. She was so glad that Daw was going to sample this refined flower of flesh and intellect.

  An image of Dawson’s sturdy cock splitting Livia open on his lap shot through Gail’s head and moistened her panties. But she forced herself to concentrate on the chess game, so as not to slide into a sexual heat too early in the proceedings. It was only 5:30, and four cross-couple matchups—and dinner—lay between this moment and the extracurricular portion of the gathering.

  Clement expressed a preference for music while they played, and Daw didn’t object. “It won’t improve my game,” Clement admitted. “Even Mozart can’t do that. But I’ll relish the chess more.”

  “His pawns look so suave when they topple to the strains of violins,” kidded Livia, leaning forward to massage her husband’s shoulders. He turned his head, and they kissed with enthusiasm.

  While Clement darted to the stereo, Gail admired his tight, lean legs, and the lock of hair at the nape of his neck. She licked her vodka-suffused lips and made eye contact with Dawson who was beaming at her.

  As everyone knew, Clement, the right-brained painter, was out of his league. By twenty minutes in, his now-sparsely-populated half of the stage was a smorgasbord of threats to his king. His queen had long since been retired from the board, and it tickled Gail to fantasize that Clement’s queen was happily ensconced with one of his equally obsolete purple bishops, who looked like they would make good vibrators for someone restlessly awaiting her king.

  Within another few moves, Clement and Mozart had capitulated.

  “Time for the next round of drinks?” asked Clement, moving swiftly from capitulation mode to host mode.

  Daw was still working on his first, but Livia and Clement had empty glasses, and Gail’s was getting there. She gulped what was left, enjoying the burn, and got in line for her refill.

  She and Livia settled in for their matchup. The vodka was already taking a toll on Gail’s concentration, but she’d agreed to the four-way inebriation pact, so she couldn’t complain. Besides, she knew that even soap-bar sober, she couldn’t hope to triumph over Livia’s formidable chess circuitry.

  Their hosts had let the stereo go idle—per Livia’s preference—when she was playing. Gail had liked the violin concertos, but she now appreciated the friendly quiet of the room. The anticipation in the air, the slow-cooking essence of sexual chemistry building among them all, made the silence feel anything but empty. Clement sat on the floor at Livia’s side, nursing his drink, and Gail noticed how sensitive his lips looked.

  Moisture trickled lazily into Gail’s fuchsia thong, making her short black hairs damp and aromatic. It excited her to think that her underwear was exposed to the vacant space under the table. She smoothed her miniskirt in her lap—an excuse to grant herself an instantaneous touch—and Livia’s eyes met hers.

  “Blue moves first, sweet.”

  “Go on, sweet,” Daw echoed playfully from the sofa. “Or do you need a pat on the ass to get you going?”

  Gail laughed immoderately. No, she didn’t need anything to get her going. Not that she would have objected to a pat on the ass.

  She went with her safest opening, but all too soon it was clear as vodka that her first-move advantage was history and her peeps were drifting into uncertainty and, inevitably, trouble.

  But the beauty of it was that she didn’t really care. Her competitive streak was submerged in the warm, pulsing waves of her libido. As they played on, she imagined being undressed by Clement, with Dawson watching intently.

  Despite this umbrella of eros and serenity, it came as a shock when Livia actuated a ploy whereby Gail had to sacrifice her queen to protect her king. Gail swallowed her pride along with the next gulp of vodka. Then she sought comfort.

  “Guess I could use that pat on the ass now,” she told Dawson.

  Her husband set his drink down, and began to get up. But Clement raised a polite hand. “Please, Daw. This one’s on me.” He spoke softly, enchantingly, his smooth voice slightly hairy around its edges. He approached Gail and, with great gracefulness, squatted beside her. Smiling self-consciously, she leaned forward on her knees to elevate her skirted behind for him. He gave her a flirty, gentle swat, and she felt her clit twitch.

  There was a moment of precious silence.

  Then all four of them cracked up. The ice had been broken.

  Even Livia’s attention no longer appeared to be entirely on the game, as she quickly destroyed Gail’s remaining defenses and claimed her victory. As for Gail, what little there was left of the contest passed by her in a blur, with the hopeless moves that were forced upon her happening as if automatically.

  Over dinner—a simple sandwich spread, as chess and sex and cooking would have been a bit much—Clement suggested they take turns describing each other’s attractive features.

  “I’ll start,” he said between mouthfuls of Swiss on rye. “Gail has a beautiful chin. It’s rounded but confident, like she’s up for anything.”

  “My husband has fine nipples,” Livia proceeded to say, with a matter-of-factness that Gail found touching.

  Gail cleared her throat; and, when she began speaking, it took her by surprise that she was choosing to talk about the only other woman in the room. “Livia, lady . . . your bottom, my dear. That day at the beach, in our bikinis—I wanted to eat you up.” Suddenly, it felt natural to Gail to be lusting after a round, feminine ass.

  Daw chipped in. “I’ll second that, Liv. Gail can vouch for a few rhapsodizing comments I made last night regarding your tush.”

  Livia’s eyes grew large. “You’re kidding.”

  Daw shrugged. “Well, you know, there was nothing good on television . . .”

  “Okay then, Dawson,” Livia purred, “Let me say that you have a very handsome bulge in your pants.”

  “You probably tell that t
o all the fellas you’re about to cream in chess.”

  About to cream. Gail was on martini number three and wondering idly what it would feel like to stick her finger into Livia’s cushiony derriere. But this didn’t stop her from savoring the thoughtful strength of Dawson’s back as he crouched over the chessboard, setting the pieces back to their starting configuration.

  “Your guy’s got muscles,” Livia breathed with a slight slur, making the last word a wet, molluscular mussssels.

  Gail noted the implied comparison with Clement’s stick-figure elegance, even before Livia rendered it explicit: “Clemmy’s my pretty boy, but sometimes I crave some meat to sink my teeth into.”

  Gail wagered that Daw could hear their conversation, at least on a subconscious level. The back of his neck seemed to glow a little pink as Livia’s remarks diffused into Gail’s ear like a hot vodka mist. Livia wriggled, and her narrow shoulder bumped Gail’s arm.

  Dawson turned their way. “Liv, I’m as ready for you as I’ll ever be.”

  Gail did an arena-style “Whoo!” at the double entendre, and Daw winked at her affectionately.

  With a few drinks in her, Livia took more time over each move; but the moves were as good as ever, once they emerged. And although there was still no music playing, Livia hummed to herself each time she scrutinized the board.

  Gail was digging the mellowness that had slowly displaced Livia’s characteristic angularity of attitude. She wondered if Livia’s pussy lips were warm and wet. No—she wondered how warm and wet they were. Gail tittered at her own train of thought, and everyone looked up at her for a second.

  No two chess games, Gail reflected, were ever the same. What had Livia said? “It is as rich with ambiguity and possibility as human endeavor.” Gail had teased her for sounding pretentious, but the observation returned now, with more weight. Sitting here in a room with the familiar man she fucked every night, and a half-strange man she was scheduled to fuck tonight . . . and an increasingly alluring woman who . . . well, Gail felt as if she were joyfully afloat on a sea of ambiguity. And possibility. And, yeah, vodka.