by Miasha
On the way to our room, some familiar faces greeted us. Others just stared. They seemed to think we owned the place. Why else could Stewart be fully dressed in the section of the club where signs clearly stated, No Clothes Permitted Beyond this Point? My answer would be, if anyone ever asked, We paid the price. I laughed at my own thoughts. But it was fact. Stewart and I paid close to ten grand to renovate our room to our liking, plus we paid twice the yearly membership fee everyone else did. So we could do what we pleased.
We were like celebrities at Puss & Boots, and the couple tailing us were groupies who had lucked out and been chosen from the crowd. I laughed at myself again. No one noticed though. Everybody was back to moaning and groaning. Licking and sticking. I loved it too. This was my scene.
We approached our door. Stewart dug in his jeans pocket and pulled out a key, the one Kelsey had given him. He put it back and retrieved a different one, which he used to unlock the door.
Inside the room, Victoria and Brent really opened up. It could’ve been the room itself: the leather walls, mirrored mosaic ceilings, plush custom bed, and flat screen looping our favorite porn flicks. Or the fact that they had both finished their drinks. The privacy might have been a factor too. It all worked in our favor.
Without any instruction or guidance, Victoria started undressing Stewart. Brent, watching his naked woman position herself to go down on another man, began lightly stroking his white dick. I decided to match Victoria and give her man the same pleasure she was now giving mine.
We were both on our knees, pulling dicks in and out of our mouths, and I felt myself getting wetter and wetter. I initiated our move from the middle of the floor to the circular rotating bed. That was our main attraction. That and the swing.
I laid on my back, bringing Brent’s dick to my face. I felt my legs being parted. And from under Brent’s balls I could see a head full of long silky black hair moving down between my thighs. My husband was bald, so go figure.
Victoria licked away at my clitoris while Stewart seized the opportunity to penetrate her from the back. Of course, he put on a condom first. That was our one rule.
She squealed at first, surprised by his size. “Is that thing real?”
I caressed her shoulders and told my husband to take it easy. What she was doing to me was too good to be interrupted by every painful stroke.
He slowed his tempo, which made the whole show that much better. His facial expressions were priceless. The amount of pleasure he had to be feeling to make those faces aroused me even more.
I turned my attention back to the head of hair between my legs. I rubbed my fingers through it, and on occasion I would palm the head to keep it right in a particular spot. Simultaneously I would push my hips forward as if I were riding her tongue. It created a nice juicy pressure against my clit. It made me gasp. And whenever I did, it allowed her guy’s dick to coast deeper down my throat. And he was taking full advantage of those moments. A few times, causing me to gag. But it was the nature of having sex in a group. Everyone wanted to seize every opportunity to be pleased beyond his or her wildest dreams.
As he pumped, she licked, and I sucked, it was like an assembly line. We switched positions numerous times before all of us had orgasms—the men cumming twice apiece. It was spectacular. More than I expected from the seemingly shy couple from Texas.
At the end, I stretched out on the bed and just smiled. My whole body felt jubilant.
“You guys smoke?” Stewart asked, from his seat on the edge of the bed.
Victoria smiled her answer. Brent said, “It’s been awhile, but what the hell . . .”
Stewart stood up, picked his jeans up off the floor, and slipped them on. Then he walked over to our stash spot behind the TV screen. He pulled out the rolling papers, the marijuana, and the lighter. I just watched him, admiring his sex appeal. It amazed me that after eight years together and six married, I was still mesmerized by his every movement.
Victoria and Brent wrapped their Puss & Boots–stamped white towels around their waists. Stewart prepared our session. In the next couple hours, Stewart and I would smoke, eat, fill up on more drinks, and do it all over again with another unsuspecting couple. It was all ritual. Thursday through Sunday, ten p.m. till three, maybe four a.m., ongoing until we pressed Stop Record on the hidden camera in our VIP room. It was genius.
JuJu & Ferrari
Getting back into their clothes in the locker room, JuJu and Ferrari exchanged not one word. Their silence left them to their thoughts. His—of that moment and how fucking magical it had been. The power he had over a human body. The earthquake that erupted in her flesh. How her mouth opened to scream but she could barely produce a whisper. The tear. He did that. And he felt proud. It gave him a cheerfulness he couldn’t mask, no matter how hard he tried.
JuJu’s thoughts paralleled Ferrari’s but the feeling she got when she replayed the moment was far different. There was no sense of pride. She was envious. This fresh-faced first-timer got to experience something with her husband that she had been trying to achieve for years. The reason she introduced the idea of occasional visits to a swingers club in the first place was to find somebody who could give her an orgasm.
“JuJu, Ferrari!” a voice squealed.
The couple looked around the corner and located the face.
“Danielle and Stew,” JuJu smiled.
“It’s been a long time.” Danielle caressed Ferrari’s pecs. “What occasion brings you two here tonight?”
“We’re celebrating five years today,” JuJu answered.
“Congratulations,” Stew said, holding up his Heineken bottle.
“Thanks, man,” Ferrari said.
“Why are you leaving already?” Danielle asked. “I wanna give you two an anniversary present.” She fell to her knees and immediately started motor-boating Ferrari’s package.
The group laughed as she stood back up.
“You know, I’ve been dying to do that,” Danielle slurred.
“One day,” JuJu said. “We have an early flight tomorrow.”
“Where are you guys going?” Stewart asked.
“Tahiti,” JuJu answered. “I got us a nice bungalow over the water. We’re gonna rekindle our romance.”
“Sweet,” Stewart said, nodding his head.
Danielle reached out and gently squeezed both of JuJu’s breasts. “Well, if y’all want some company, Stew and I can fly out there in a couple days.” She winked at Ferrari while still having her way with his wife’s breasts.
“Excuse my wife,” Stewart interjected, “she’s a ball of sex drive.”
“It’s cool,” Ferrari said, a slight smile on his face. “Next time we come we have to . . .”
“Yes, definitely,” JuJu cosigned. “Next time.” She kissed Danielle on her lips and then gently removed her hands from her breasts. “Can’t you see this girl’s in heat, Stew? Go get her some dick . . . or some pussy.”
They all laughed again.
“Yeah, I better before she rapes one of you,” Stew added to the comedy.
Moments later, JuJu and Ferrari were completely dressed and ready to leave the locker room.
“Well, it was good seeing you,” JuJu said as she headed to the door.
“Oh, wait,” Danielle stopped the couple. “Honey, give them a flyer.”
“Oh yeah, of course.” Stewart dug in his back pocket. He pulled out a flyer and handed it to Ferrari. “We’re having our annual Christmas party.”
“Come out,” Danielle encouraged, “we’re going to have live shows, contests, the works. If you leave without having an orgasm you can sue us for all we got.” She giggled.
The word orgasm caught their attention. JuJu was thinking that the Christmas party might give her what she had been so desperately looking for. Ferrari was thinking that perhaps he could recapture the experience he’d had that night. It was his first time making a woman cum, and he didn’t want it to be his last.
“We’ll be there,” JuJu
said.
“Yeah, for sure,” Ferrari agreed.
“Great,” Danielle said, kissing each of them on their lips one last time.
“Y’all enjoy your trip,” Stewart said as the couple walked out of the locker room.
“Thanks!” JuJu yelled back. Ferrari waved goodbye.
Outside, the cold air was a major contrast to the steamy humidity of Puss & Boots. JuJu gave the valet her ticket and he fled to get the couple’s vehicle.
“Is everything all right?” Ferrari asked his wife while they waited for their car to pull up.
“Yes, why do you ask?”
“You told Danielle and Stew we were going to Tahiti tomorrow.”
“Everything’s fine,” JuJu said with a roll of her eyes.
“Why did you tell them that?”
JuJu’s eyes suddenly squinted with fury, her lips tightened. “Because I did. Why are you questioning me?”
Their car arrived. In a snap JuJu put on a smile and tipped the valet. She hurried into the driver’s seat, while Ferrari reluctantly got in the other side. Their ride home was as silent as their locker room experience before Danielle and Stewart had breathed life into it.
Ferrari took the opportunity to pretend to fall asleep. His mind, though, was spinning. He couldn’t believe he had finally met his infatuation in person and had the chance to make love to her—something he had dreamed about for almost a year. Ever since he had seen those words on her Facebook page: One is not wealthy until he has things money cannot buy. He had simply written under it, This couldn’t be more true. And that had sparked a cyber affair he never saw coming. Over the ensuing months, he told himself numerous times he would end it, usually after JuJu discovered a message or two and threatened him. But he couldn’t help himself. Despite all the number changes, deleted online accounts, and spying by JuJu, he always managed to find his way back to his computer love. And tonight was his dream manifested.
The rumbling of the garage door pulled the plug on Ferrari’s thoughts. He hadn’t gotten both eyes open before he noticed JuJu’s arm extended over his left knee. He jumped with fear.
“What did I do?” He knew what it meant when JuJu went inside the glove compartment after pulling into their garage. Although the sex between he and Tori had been premeditated, JuJu didn’t know this and so she had no right to be angry with him. At least that’s how he saw it.
JuJu ignored his question. She pulled out a black rectangular device and Ferrari went for the door. It was locked, of course, and in that split second Ferrari felt the shock of JuJu’s taser disrupt his muscle control. She laughed wickedly as she watched his big body contract at her will.
“You wanna make a bitch tremble?” she asked. “Well, so do I!”
JuJu sent enough electricity through Ferrari to turn his pretend sleep real. His eyes closed and his head drooped. This was her indication to take her finger off the trigger. She reached over her husband’s jittery leg, put the weapon back in the glove compartment, and retrieved a couple napkins. She pulled down the mirror from above the driver’s seat and stared at her reflection as she patted the beads of sweat that had gathered across her forehead.
She closed the mirror, balled the napkin, and threw it at her unconscious husband. She then pressed her thumb into the remote that was clipped to the mirror, bringing the garage door back down. She got out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition and the engine running, and headed inside.
“That’s why I told them we were going to Tahiti,” she mumbled, “if you must know.” She removed her coat. “I’m gonna need a couple uninterrupted days to get you back in line.”
Lyssa & Jacob
“Uhnnnn, uhnnnn, szzzz,” I moaned through my clenched teeth.
I enjoyed all kinds of sexual positions but being scissored was one I’d come to love. And my live-in, Morgan, had it down to a science. She made sure our clitorises were perfectly aligned and then she’d aggressively twirl her hips like she was in a hula-hoop competition. It always made me cum. Tonight was no different.
“Szzzzz, oh God!” I shrieked.
Morgan was sure to keep her movement steady until I was completely done. Stopping midway might be cause for a dock in her pay. She had learned that lesson the first week on the job.
“You done?” Jacob whispered in my ear from his position behind me. His hands were planted on my boobs, fingers paying special attention to my nipples.
I nodded, accompanying my response was a wet kiss. My husband reciprocated. Morgan watched our tongues dance in each other’s mouths while she gently stroked Jacob’s thigh. It was his turn next.
I sat up, leaning my back against the headboard, and lit a cigarette. The only time I’d ever smoke was after sex. I didn’t know why. Jacob wanted me to quit. But I would always tell him, you can’t quit a habit you don’t have. Seriously, smoking was never a vice of mine. Other than after orgasms, I never even thought about cigarettes.
I puffed and dragged while Morgan gave my husband a blowjob. I watched her jaws expand and contract with every motion. Jacob’s hand palmed the crown of her head like it was a basketball. I didn’t know if he was guiding her movement or just following it. His face was scrunched up like he couldn’t stand it, yet I knew he loved every minute. Just like he used to with me. I couldn’t remember the last time I had given my husband head, but I did remember how much he used to enjoy it.
Since we started hiring live-ins, two years earlier when our youngest went away to college, my wifely duties had been cut down significantly. And where sex used to be a chore for me, live-ins made it pleasurable—as pleasurable as it had always been for my husband. Now we were on a level playing field. Our sex drives were compatible, thus our love life was incredible.
It was that very change in momentum that had brought the urge to open a swingers club. We wanted other couples to get to that same space of complete sexual fulfillment. And Puss & Boots was just the place that allowed this to happen. The name was our first choice, and although we considered others, we stuck with our gut. We used our retirement money to open it, and it turned out to be one of the best investments we’d ever made. Who knew so many people, from all walks of life, would be into swapping partners?
Two years and one hundred fifty memberships later, we were able to live good off our club, and when I say good, I mean we could afford extras like a housekeeper, a daily dining-out habit, and of course our live-ins.
Live-ins got five hundred a week plus they stayed with us rent-free. All their utilities including cable and Internet were taken care of. Meals, cell phone, and car expenses were on us. A live-in paid only for her personal hygiene items and outings or trips she wanted to go on without us. That way, she could save up for a place of her own, for tuition, or for whatever else she wanted to do. In exchange, Jake and I got sex on demand. It was a win-win.
We usually hired a different live-in every two or three months. That was about how long they generally needed to accumulate enough money for whatever it was they were trying to achieve. For us, it helped in preventing boredom.
We met our first live-in when we were in New Orleans. We had gone down there one year for the Essence Music Festival and one night we got entirely too drunk. We dipped into one of the many clubs that line Bourbon Street to retreat from the ninety-degree heat.
We didn’t even realize until we were shoving dollar bills down a girl’s thong that we were in a strip club. It was all a drunken blur. At some point we got a lap dance from a girl from Atlanta, our hometown. Indeed, she was the first girl to ever make me second-guess my sexuality. We spent the rest of our night getting lap dances from her. Then we invited her to our hotel room. We had the best sex. We paid her well and I made a simple comment that would change our lives for good.
“I wish I could take you home with me,” I said, joking but serious.
“You can,” was her response. “Are you two into having a live-in?”
Neither Jake nor I knew what that was. A nanny was the first thing tha
t came to my mind.
“Both our kids are grown and out of the house,” I told her.
“That’s perfect—we won’t have to hide from anybody.”
Then I understood that what she was referring to had nothing to do with babysitting. Jacob and I took her number. We discussed it at breakfast, lunch, and dinner the next day. We weighed pros and cons. By the time we landed back in Atlanta three days later, we were calling the girl to set it up.
Her name was Jasmine. She had moved to New Orleans to live with a boyfriend after high school. He became abusive and she left him. Stripping was a way for her to support herself. But it wasn’t panning out the way she’d hoped. She had heard of girls getting more money and stability by becoming live-ins to wealthy couples. She wanted that opportunity for herself. And Atlanta was familiar territory for her, so we fit the bill.
She moved in with us a month after she had danced her way into our lives. She showed us so much about sex and how to achieve true ecstasy. She was a gift. She left us at the end of three months, but not before she showed us how to look for our next live-in.
There were two websites she introduced us to, TheRedLightCenter.com and SwingLifestyle.com. The first one caught Jake and I totally off guard. It’s a virtual world of partying, drinking, vacationing, socializing, and of course having sex with random people. You create an avatar that is very lifelike. Then you virtually interact with people as you would in the real world. You find someone compatible for you and you end up having virtual sex with him or her and, if interested, you can arrange to meet in person and have actual live sex. A lot of people in our lifestyle go on that site to find fuck buddies.
