Swing

by Miasha

  It was intriguing, but Jake and I found SwingLifestyle.com to be more our speed. First of all, it was filled with single females. Second of all, it was simple. You sign up to be a member, set up a profile, and seek out single females who fit the bill. You can find parties, groups, clubs, and even read stories by other swingers. There had been many occasions where Jake and I had gotten extremely horny simply visiting the site.

  It was the best resource Jasmine could’ve led us to. And every time we went on SwingLifestyle to search out our next prospect, I thought about her, wondering if her profile would pop up.

  Anyway, Jacob and I adapted to our new lifestyle quite well. While we were comfortable with it and open in our own way, our children didn’t know about it. Neither did the rest of our family or close friends. Only our live-ins and our Puss & Boots members. We liked it that way. A double life wasn’t as hard to lead as we initially feared. And it actually made the whole thing more exciting. We were content.

  * * *

  Jake’s body jolted. He was cumming. I put out my cigarette and joined Morgan at the base of my husband’s penis. She licked one side, I did the other, our tongues collecting his semen. We swallowed and then kissed each other, passionately, sloppily. We caressed and then nibbled on each other’s breasts. This got us all aroused again. Jake positioned me on all fours and, parting my lips, entered me from behind. Morgan placed her lower half beneath my face and began sliding her fingers up and down her slit. Watching her kept me good and lubricated for my husband’s pleasure. We were both headed toward a second orgasm and there was no better way to spend my Saturday night.

  Chapter 2

  Thanksgiving Disguised As a Feast

  Tori & Kevin

  The drive to my mom’s house reminded me of just how much I loved the fall. The collage of orange and red leaves glowing in the sunlight always made me think of my childhood. I imagined myself playing in the orchards, running through the corn maze trying to lose my dad, eating candy corn, and picking out the biggest pumpkin I could find. It made me smile. I missed my dad. It had been a year since his death. In fact, two life-changing developments had occurred within that last year: my wedding, then two days later the passing of my father. That was the reason I agreed to marry Kevin so quickly after his proposal in the first place. My father was ill and we all knew he didn’t have much time. It meant everything to him to walk his only daughter down the aisle. So despite not being ready for marriage, I recited my vows in front of eighty-five of Kevin and my closest family members and friends.

  Beep! Beep! Beep!

  The horn took me away from my memories. It was Kevin’s way of announcing our arrival. He did it every time we pulled up to my mom’s brick ranch home. Now she was ill too. Her sight was failing her. So Kevin and I were trying to spend as much time with her as possible, especially during holidays.

  It was Thanksgiving Day and she had managed to cook us up a traditional turkey feast. Cooking was something my mom excelled at. She could do it with her eyes closed, let alone legally blind.

  I jumped out the passenger seat and hurried down the rest of the driveway to my mother’s doorstep, where she stood with her arms out waiting to greet us with warm hugs.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Mama.” I kissed her on her cheek as we embraced.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.” She kissed me back.

  “Hey, Mom.” Kevin hugged and kissed her next. “You’re looking good.” She loved his compliments, said he was just like my dad in that way. It was probably why she always thought Kevin was so perfect for me.

  “Are you two hungry?” she asked, leading us into the home I grew up in.

  “Starving,” Kevin said. He had taken a strong liking to my mom as well. She filled the void of him not having his own mother.

  In the beginning of our relationship Kevin hardly ever talked about his mom, and whenever I asked about her, he’d cut the conversation short. It wasn’t until later that I found out she had died of a drug overdose when he was a teenager. I felt sorry for him, knowing that it had a huge impact on him. So when he and my mom connected, it was electric. He was the son she never had and she was the mom he’d always wished he had. I couldn’t have asked for a better situation.

  “Tori, honey, set the table. Kevin, go wash your hands,” my mom instructed.

  We did what we were told, parting ways briefly. It was right then that my phone alerted me to a text message. I looked down at the screen and saw that it was from him. I hadn’t heard from him since our first physical encounter a week ago. A bit of excitement ran through my veins, but also nervousness. I had a short window of time before Kevin would emerge from the bathroom. I opened the message.

  JuJu & Ferrari

  His skin tone flushed and veins popping out of his head, Ferrari thumbed away at the keyboard on his cell phone.

  I can’t take it anymore. It’s getting worse and worse. What are we waiting for? We finally met each other in person. We finally made love. You still love me after that? Then what are we waiting for?

  He stood up off the king-sized platform bed. He tossed his phone on the stark white duvet cover and rubbed his hands over his head from front to back, pacing the master suite. He anxiously waited for the beep that would let him know she had responded to his text.

  He made his way over to the floor-to-ceiling window that separated him from Atlanta. It was ironic that he felt trapped in such a big, open city. But that was how JuJu made him feel. Between the verbal and physical abuse and the threats to have him deported to his native country of Brazil, Ferrari often felt helpless. Sometimes he looked at that window and imagined himself jumping out.

  He walked back over to the bed and picked up his phone. No response. He worried that too much time had passed since the last time they communicated. Was that all she had wanted from him? Or had she moved on? He logged onto Facebook. Maybe she had messaged him. That was more private than texting back and forth. He needed to hear from her.

  Don’t think it was my choosing to not get in touch with you before now. She did it again. Almost killed me this time. Then held me up at the lake house for four days with no food and no cell service. She just brought me back to the condo. And only so she could entertain guests at the lake house for Thanksgiving dinner. She told everybody I flew home for the holidays. But the truth is, she locked me in here. If I leave I will have no way of getting back in. I hope you understand. It is she who is the problem. Not you. Not me. If you tell me you still love me, I will take away the problem once and for all. I just need to hear from you. Please.

  Ferrari

  He pressed Send on his phone and grew even more anxious. He paced some more, starting to shake from the desperation, fatigue, and anger. He took a seat. He bit away at his thumbnail. He looked at his phone: no alerts, no replies. His heart was beginning to hurt. Not physically but spiritually. He was there alone on Thanksgiving in misery while JuJu was up at the lake house probably at the head of the table for twelve laughing, telling stories of her modeling days, and having a good time.

  He could picture the scene. He imagined it was how it used to be when she was courting him. Her charismatic smile and laugh cheered the entire room back then. She was a big personality and Ferrari, not so much. He was an introvert, so being with JuJu helped keep him in the shadows, where he was most comfortable. Little did he know then that this was exactly what JuJu preyed on.

  JuJu spotted Ferrari at a friend’s dinner party years back in the Hollywood Hills. He was hired as eye candy. At that time, he was a struggling model/actor and JuJu was already an accomplished supermodel. The fact that she showed any interest in the nineteen-year-old was enough to make him do whatever she asked. He was smitten in the way a young boy might be over a teacher he found attractive.

  JuJu walked over to him and lifted a glass of champagne off the tray he was holding. Then she took the entire tray and set it on a nearby table. Grabbing a second glass from the tray, she handed one to Ferrari and asked—well, told him—�
��Take a walk with me.”

  She led Ferrari to a quiet corner near the back of the pool where the rest of Hollywood was in view. She introduced herself and asked Ferrari what his dreams were. He chuckled. She thought he was being bashful, but really, he didn’t have any dreams as of yet. He was just trying to survive, trying to make money the best way he knew how—with his striking looks and rock-hard body. She caught on.

  “You don’t know, do you?” She lifted his chin to peer into his eyes. “You don’t know what you want to do with the rest of your life? Well, that’s understandable. You’re a baby. What are you, like twenty, twenty-one?”

  Ferrari nodded, “Something like that.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what, why don’t you spend some time with me? I can help you figure out your dreams through living them,” she proposed. “Anything you can wish for, you name it. A sports car, a home like this.” She extended her arm toward the back of the modern mansion. “Whatever you like. Just take care of me and I will take care of you.”

  It seemed like an easy decision, but Ferrari didn’t make it. Instead, he chuckled again. He didn’t think the woman was serious. He thought she might have had too much to drink.

  JuJu took that as a yes, sure. And she locked her arm in his. “You’re mine now, okay?”

  He chuckled for a third time.

  Eleven years later and Ferrari lived the true meaning of that phrase daily. He was JuJu’s the way a slave was his master’s.

  * * *

  Ferrari’s phone chirped. He had a Facebook message.

  I do still love you. Just need more time to figure things out. Happy you’re okay. But with my family now so I gotta go.

  Tori

  Ferrari cradled his phone with both hands and exhaled. At least there was a sliver of joy to be felt that day. It was no family dinner, but it was hope.

  Danielle & Stewart

  “Look how many people are logged in,” I told my husband as I twirled my lo mein on my fork. “You would think these jerk-offs would be spending time with their families right now.”

  “Never complain about business, honey,” Stewart said, not even bothering to glance over at the number of people now visiting our candid porn site. “Besides, why do you think the movie theaters are still open on days like Thanksgiving and Christmas? It’s entertainment, and people are always looking for entertainment, especially during the holidays when the stress of work and everyday commitments are lifted off them.”

  I took a forkful of noodles to my mouth. “You’ve got a point,” I said, chewing. “That’s why I married you. You’re so smart and so sexy . . .” I put the Chinese food down on the desk beside the mouse my husband was running across the mouse pad. Over his shoulder, I watched as he browsed our site. “All this sex is turning me on.” I gently massaged his broad shoulders.

  Stewart smiled. He loved that I loved him so much. His last wife didn’t. In fact, she didn’t love men period. She was an undercover lesbian who had married Stew because she thought it was the thing to do. Then at a swingers party once, she took off with a woman and never looked back. She left Stew high and dry. A week later, Stew’s circle of swinging friends convinced him to go to a single’s night at a club they all were members of. It was where we met. We hit if off almost instantly. And the love and affection I showered him with overwhelmed him—to the point where it was as if he was under my spell. In little time I could get Stewart to do anything I asked, including marrying me and starting our business. He was putty in my hands. But that was okay with him because he knew I would take good care of him. I wasn’t out to hurt him. I wasn’t using him. I was just a fun, fiery girl who liked to party and fuck.

  “Let me just finish this up and I can take that edge off you.”

  “Okay, hurry,” I said, backing away from him.

  I headed over to the bar that took up the wall opposite the L-shaped desk my husband was seated at. It was well stocked with top-shelf liquor, various pills, and a small pile of my favorite doctrine, cocaine. I bent down in front of it, then used my thumb to close my right nostril, and with my left, I sniffed as much of the white powder as I could. I wanted to be in a trance. It made sex that much better.

  “You know what’s more puzzling than the amount of people logged on right now?” Stewart’s voice sounded over the light music that played in my mind.

  I danced like a ballerina in the middle of our two-story office/library. “What’s that? What could be more puzzling?” I smiled.

  “That Texas couple got more views than all our other videos. It’s like the damn thing went viral. Almost four hundred thousand views in a week.”

  “Maybe people got a thing for cowboys,” I giggled. “Now why don’t you get off that thing and let’s make a video of our own?”

  I returned to the bar, bent down, and snorted some more. By the time I stood back upright, my husband was already inserting himself into me.

  I laughed and jerked with pleasure. My nude body was reflected in the mirrored bar and I watched myself get fucked like it was a video on our site. I performed too: I rubbed my breasts and brought them up to my mouth. I sucked my own nipples, eyeing Stew in the mirror while I did it. He cracked a smile. Then he took one hand away from my hip and put it on top of my head, pushing it downward. I guess he didn’t want me looking at him. Maybe it was intimidating. I obliged and kept my head lowered—made it easier to get to the coke. And if you’ve ever snorted while being fucked doggy style, you know I was in my glory.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, sexy motherfucker!” I muffled up to my husband, biting my bottom lip. “Happy Thanksgiving . . .”

  Lyssa & Jacob

  Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” blared through the Bose in-wall speakers. A soul train line was in full swing. One of my sisters, the one who decided to host Thanksgiving dinner that year, was going down the middle clapping and throwing her hips from side to side. The members of my family bordering the dance floor cheered her on.

  I was sitting in a recliner by the fireplace laughing and bopping my head, singing along: “But you’re a good girllll, the way you grab me, must wanna get nasty, go ’head get at me . . .”

  Jake was at the card table playing blackjack with my sisters’ husbands and a couple nephews. The music, cheering, dancing, and laughter went largely unnoticed by them. They all had serious looks on their faces, concentrated on the cards and money on the table.

  At the dining table the latecomers were eating from whatever was left. My son, Jacob Jr., and his wife and child were among them. I glanced over from time to time in admiration at the family my son had built. Watching him feed my grandbaby was surreal. It felt like just yesterday that it was me feeding him.

  Meanwhile, my daughter Alexandria was sitting beside Morgan on the couch making small talk. At first I was worried, but Morgan was pretty careful with her words so I felt comfortable that nothing would slip out. Besides, when Jake and I agreed to let Morgan join us for Thanksgiving, we all went over our story numerous times until it was embedded in our brains. We told everybody that Morgan was our new receptionist down at the assisted living residence they all thought we owned. She didn’t have much family of her own so we invited her to spend the holiday with ours. The latter part of our story was actually true.

  It worked; no one questioned it. They welcomed her as they would have welcomed anybody. That’s how my family is. Very warm, friendly, and accepting. Well, to a degree. Jake and I were certain they wouldn’t be so warm and friendly to Morgan had they knew her real position.

  My song ended and the soul train came to its last stop. My relatives trickled off the dance floor and filled the seats throughout my sister’s home. My son and his family were finished eating. I figured this was the perfect time to start putting dishes in the washer and wrapping up some of the food so that we could put the dessert out. I called on my daughter to help me. This would also get me caught up on her third semester at Hampton University.

  “I’m stuffed. How about you?” I
asked her as we entered the kitchen.

  “I could go for dessert,” she said.

  “Yeah, I think everyone could, which is why I wanted to put some of this food away to make room for your aunt’s famous banana pudding.”

  “Mom . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “How long has that girl Morgan been working for you and Daddy?”

  I swallowed. “A little while now, why?”

  “I don’t know. She seems a little . . .”

  “A little what?” I avoided eye contact with my daughter.

  “I think she may like Daddy.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. I looked up at her. “That’s funny. What gave you that impression?”

  “The way she brought him his beer while he was playing cards. And when we were in grace, I saw her peep up at Daddy. She just seems a little flirty toward him.”

  “Nooo,” I shook my head. “She’s just trying very hard to appease him. He is her boss. She just wants to impress him, is all.”

  “You’re her boss too and I don’t see her trying to appease you.”

  “Yeah, but your dad and I have two different roles down at the home. He’s the one who runs it, I just do the financing. So in reality, he’s her boss, not me.” Truth be told, I did start wondering why Morgan was acting one way toward Jake and another toward me. We had equal stock in her. Neither Jake nor I wanted her more than the other and it was supposed to be that way on her end too.