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(Note to readers: Click on my profile, or the ‘stories’ link, to find the earlier chapters. Young city-dwellers Sherman and Kristi, and middle-aged suburbanites Brenda and Garth, are a full-swapping foursome. Most recently they advanced from MFM and FMF triads, to direct and exclusive lesbian sex. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older. Those situations, now or later, can include anal, interracial, lesbian, and gay male sex, along with multibody braiding and chaining. Some of the sex is physically rough, but all of it is consensual. Frequent readers of my writings should be aware that this story doesn’t have my usual upbeat tone.)
Chapter 9: Confrontation on Patio Furniture
The email sent by Kristi read:
Garth replied the next day:
The day after that, Brenda sent us this:
We said we could, and replied with the no-big-deal stuff about whether we should bring anything.
In the days leading up to this meeting, Kristi and I had little to say about it. She took it as their way of using home field to achieve damage control. I didn’t lecture her further on ethics, but my mood was apparent to her.
On Sunday, she was in a mood of her own. She said little. She looked preoccupied.
I drove us out there. When we crossed over from city to suburbs, I said, “I gather you’ll do the talking.”
I heard a slow exhalation. Moments later, she said, “You win, okay? I went too far.”
Relief made me smile a little. “You would have realized that without me.”
The weather was okay, but our hosts had planned nothing structured. No barbecuing, no outdoor activities, nobody else invited over. Once we arrived, we perceived the underlying structure that was disguised as nothingness.
We actually encountered the kids, for the first time. They were courteous enough to total strangers. Both kids looked relieved when our chat ended and they were allowed to return to whatever they were doing in their rooms. My hunch was that 12-year-old Sue would be deeply involved with her phone, and 15-year-old Bradley likewise with his game console. Whatever hipness Kristi and I possessed was diluted by our being friends with their parents.
I got no sense that the kids had a glimmer of what the friendship entailed.
Kristi and I were ushered onto the back deck and invited to sit at a table overtopped by a gargantuan umbrella. We were offered iced tea, which we accepted. Then our hosts sat facing us, looking and acting not at all like a firing squad. Still…
“We’d like to know why you sent that email,” said Brenda with a neutral expression, “and why you did whatever it was to make it possible.”
“I spied on you,” said Kristi at once. “All on my own. Only Sherman knows anything about this.”
“We’ve been curious about your club,” I said, trying to share blame, but not too much of it.
Kristi continued, “I know now that it was wrong, I should have respected you. But it seemed…” She gestured vaguely, in one of those rare moments when she was at a loss for words. “…like you’re holding back from us, and not just out of fear, or anxiety. Like you’re keeping us at a distance, even as we share so much physically and emotionally.”
I saw Garth’s eyes flick, now and then, to look well above our heads. He was facing the house. The kids’ rooms, I gathered, were on the second floor, overlooking the back yard.
After a pause, Brenda said, “Since your email, Garth and I talked our way through anger and panic, and got to some self-examination. We admitted that we’re using you, I think more than you’re using us. We grabbed at a chance for no-strings fun, making only a little effort to ensure that this was worthwhile for you. And that was so we could keep using you.”
“We asked you here,” said Garth, “so we could talk openly.” He did that with a voice as quiet as his wife’s. “Brenda and I are better off than you, thanks to being older and more established in our careers. To be blunt, what is it that you want from us?”
Kristi and I leaned in abruptly, looking equally, genuinely shocked. We blurted together, totally uncool. In retrospect, I think that eased out hosts’ minds more than anything we said.
My wife got coherent first. “I’m so sorry that you’re worried about that, but I understand it completely. I’ve never wanted anything but access to your club, and that definitely isn’t worth the worry it caused you. I care about you too much. The only thing I want now is to apologize, and to assure you that we don’t want anything from you.”
I took it further. “If you want to break up with us, we’ll accept that, and what we know will go no further.”
“We did discuss that,” said Brenda dourly. “But we wanted to talk with you first.” She looked at Garth. “I suggest that we spend some time apart. A cooling-off period.”
As Garth nodded, I said, “We can only accept. You’re the injured ankara iri göğüsleri olan escortlar parties.”
For the first time, Brenda smiled. “Look, we can only push the victim act so far. If you’re sincere about not blowing up our lives, or making our fellow libertines hate us, we can’t be more than mildly disturbed.” Her voice got quieter, the smile bigger. “And I’ve seen enough of you two in extreme moments to be pretty sure that you are sincere.”
Kristi slumped in her chair and said, “Thank you!”
Garth also got a smile, maybe a bit wicked. “How’s this for balancing out the injured-parties thing? Maaayyybe Brenda and I did something towards you that maaaayyy have been a little transgressive. Something that nobody else would ever be aware of. Or maaayybe we didn’t. If you get worried or offended about that, maaayyybe we’re even.”
Entirely for his benefit, I cocked an eyebrow, as if concerned. I doubted that he had the means to boot me out of the closet, but I had to add this to my long list of things that could reveal what I still kept mostly secret.
Then, we moved the conversation to mind food. We’d all seen two recent movies, and had plenty to share about them, at normal voice volume, with occasional laughs. We would have enjoyed this anyway, but also accepted that it provided a way for the kids to decide that all four of us were doing Boring Grownup Stuff.
We parted with calm handclasps and hugs, as friends, I thought. Beyond that, I was resigned to exile.
It became clear, fairly soon, that Kristi’s relief was overtaken by some darker feeling. It seemed directed inward. I didn’t say anything right away.
I looked for this during our sex that night. I was gentle, aiming for a slow build. I kissed her neck, lightly fingered her nipples, slid my still-clad legs along hers, even brushed her toes with mine. She returned in kind for a while, I think enjoying it.
But then she grabbed my head, and kissed hard. She drove a hand into my pants and shorts, and yanked what was there. I shifted to match her effort.
She tumbled us onto the floor. I ditched the last of my clothes before she could damage them. Straddling me, she pulled her still-hooked bra off over her head, then flattened onto my chest, shoved her arms between my back and the rug, and bit my ear.
As I had done to her, she stayed within our boundaries while roughing me up. I gave as good as I got, but no more. Thus we told each other that, while we felt the need for this, we were doing it under complete control. Our passion was theatrical.
It still drove us wild.
As control freaks, we ensured that we each orgasmed once, as intended: She pivoted rapidly on me in cowgirl while my thumbs rubbed and squeezed her clit. Then we were able to cut looser, smacking buttocks and pulling hair and strangling one-handed. Genitals were shoved at secondary locations, and seized there. Each extra orgasm experienced by the recipient was not always discerned by the partner.
Eventually we lay on our backs, side by side. After a few moments of stillness and labored breathing, I said, “Can you tell me?”
“I’m such a damn wimp!” she rasped, pounding a fist on the rug. “When I got through to the video inside their club, I was triumphant. But today, out at their palace of privilege, sitting on fucking patio furniture, I crumbled.”
She looked at me defiantly. “I’m still glad that I did it! I still want to get into that club and deflate all those dicks. And you were hot for it too, until you started guilt-tripping.”
I hadn’t even said to her that I enjoyed not only the sight of all those nude, freely-fucking women, but also the array of penises–which wouldn’t be available to me even if I were there. But I was able to sidestep that and get to what I thought this was really about. “It can be tough, realizing how you feel about them.”
She knew who I meant by ‘them.’ She looked away, jaw tightening against a sob.
She said, “I only want to love one person.”
She made no move towards me, not a hand squeeze or anything like that, so I didn’t do that to her.
I said, “I started feeling affection for them almost at the beginning. It was easy to channel that into desire. But the affection kept growing.”
“So you’ll be crushed if they ditch us?”
I could read a lot from that, including whether I’d blame her for making that happen.
I looked her way. “I’d get over it.” I smiled. “But I don’t think they’ll do that.”
Again she looked my way. Then her eyes unfocused, and I knew she was replaying the scene on the fucking patio furniture. She smiled. “No, they won’t.”
“We’ll just get through the cooling-off period,” I said. Then I stopped smiling. “But when we reunite, drop the subject of their club. Maybe they’ll bring it up. But if they don’t, we can live without it. Right?”
“Yeah,” she said, looking away. So maybe she couldn’t.
We elvankent götü büyük escortlar didn’t know how long the cooling-off period would last. We didn’t take initiative on that. We resumed our mind-food emailing with Garth and Brenda, with no attempts at hidden meanings.
A few weeks passed. Kristi and I weren’t completely content with the sex we had, but we weren’t as frantic as we had been during earlier gaps between foursomes.
I had thought that if the cooling-off ended positively, it would be with yet another foursome session at our place in the city.
I did not expect that it would end with a long-delayed lunch-hour shopping excursion by Kristi and Brenda.
I was copied on the email traffic between them. I didn’t chime in, and might have been too mind-boggled to do so, despite perceiving this as a sort of ping-pong diplomacy between our two sides. I noted that Garth, perhaps the most likely of us to try for the wittiest multiple entendre hidden in an apparently innocent statement, wrote nothing.
The women’s messages were above reproach, setting a time and arranging for Brenda to pick up Kristi and get them to the unstated destination.
Which was a sex shop that offered test rides on a Sybian, a large, expensive device for female masturbation.
I didn’t try to contact Kristi that afternoon. She didn’t message me. I’m sure I appeared to the world like my usual end-of-workday self, getting a load of take-home work under my arm and looking a bit fatigued.
She was already home when I got there, also looking end-of-workday, with her hair and office wear in good repair.
She met me at the door, gave me a modest wifely kiss, and said, “I came three times.”
“What about Brenda?” I asked, smirking.
She waved that off. “It’s nothing new to her.” Having set me up, she smirked right back. “Five.”
She got into the details as we went about making dinner, of course well aware of this convergence of the ordinary and the ecstatic.
“The place was what you’d expect,” said Kristi. “Windows frosted so you couldn’t see in, but clear statements that are legally acceptable, like ‘Everything for your love life.’ Inside, racks of DVDs and, out of sight from the ID checkpoint, dildos and bondage gear. Brenda had made us an appointment for a room off to one side.
“The attendant who escorted us there was pretty hot, with piercings and tats maybe past the point of eventual regret. She asked us if we wanted to use the thing anally, because there were several attachments, and an extra charge for that kind of cleanup. We declined.
“There were security cams, of course. I told Brenda in the car that I had researched this store, and knew the cam system, and could blank it as soon as we left, with a phone app. But because we’d be watched by an employee, we ought to stay out of contact with each other. We’d just be two more sex-positive women empowering ourselves, but as individuals, not a couple. She agreed, and said she was glad to have my skills on her side this time.
“It didn’t take long for us to bring out our randy selves, even though we stayed clothed on top. Maybe that gave us more focus on our twats, I don’t know. But mostly we had fun, and joked nastily, even as we rode that thing, taking turns, and changing attachments. I’m sure the attendant hears that all the time.
“Whoever rode the thing always controlled the vibe settings. Me turning the knob for her would be as much of a giveaway as us making contact.”
I leaned close enough to get a whiff of her neck. I know her sweat, and I could detect it faintly below the topnote of her hair products. “What’s your conclusion?” I asked.
“It’s big, strange, and expensive, and my husband does a much more enjoyable job getting me off, thanks to mouth and hands and hotness and suchlike.”
I moved on to the main thing I’d been thinking about. “Did you get an inkling of when the cooling-off period might end?”
She grinned, and I perceived that I’d fallen into a trap. But it must be good news, right?
“Follow me,” she said, leaving the kitchen.
I complied. She pointed behind a loveseat.
I stepped around and saw on the floor a plain, sealed, sturdy-looking cardboard box, about two feet by three feet by four feet.
“Brenda bought one,” said Kristi. “Eventually it’ll go to their club. She wants, however, to break it in first, which is why she didn’t take it to their storage locker. Do you have any conflicts two weeks from Saturday?”
Chapter 10: Expressing Affection, After Taking Control
Was this going to be the usual light-hearted fun? I had my doubts, when they asked us to meet them at a sprawling barbecue place just outside the city limit. I told myself that even if this were a power move, the foursome would still be hours of sex that I’d yearned for.
The food was okay, at or below the etimesgut çıtır escortlar level of ten similar places I knew. I made a point of bringing up mind-food topics, to divert conversation from the dining experience. A considerate power move of my own.
If the Sybian was another means for our lovers to dodge exploration that might disturb them, I had no problem with that, either. Kristi and I had undermined their trust in us. I didn’t yet know if trust could be restored.
In the privacy of our condo, we unboxed the thing, a torso-sized semicylinder with a space at the top center for various attachments. The user would straddle it, knees on the rug on either side, and insert the vibrating attachment in cowgirl position. This makes it possible, and in many pornos expected, for the user to be full-frontally displayed. More fun for everyone than, say, a mechanical bull.
We did what the women didn’t do at the store. With everyone fully nude, the rider surrendered the control box, which was passed around by the other three. Garth and I independently realized that we shouldn’t do more than a few sudden boosts, and for the same reason: Once the women were done, we were egged into ‘using’ the Sybian.
Mindful of my role as the established bisexual male, I went first, and no further than sitting just in front of the spire, setting my cheeks around it but not inserting. I made a point of reacting facially to whatever the knob-turner did. All jolly fun, which Garth topped during his turn. Legitimately or otherwise, he jerked away several times while in the same position I had used. He laughed it all off.
We then shared in the cleanup of the attachments (after a wipedown of the semicylinder), getting some laughs from other parts of the user guide after reading that the instructions called for nothing more than warm, soapy water. Then we moved on to our agreed, planned activity that was only a slight change to the earlier spit-roastings. This time, each woman would blow her husband while getting porked by the other man (with a condom).
The configuration, however, was more than a slight change. Brenda lay on her back, and directed me to take her in missionary. She had Garth straddle her abdomen, to fuck her tits. He looked over his shoulder at me and said, “You can use your hands on me, a little. I’ll let you know if you should stop.”
Well, okay, I was his ‘guide’ after all. I would have much preferred access to Brenda’s bosom. Instead, Garth’s ass was a few inches away. Maybe I was being punished, in a non-kinky, passive-aggressive way.
Whatevs. I entered Brenda slowly, enjoying the wet warmth she had built up from her time on the Sybian. Her squeeze was slow enough to suggest full control, but the shifting of her thighs–and what I could pick up of her voice, from beyond Garth’s body–told me she welcomed and enjoyed my arrival.
Kristi, sitting at the headboard, put on a fussy voice. “Not, in the strictest sense, a spit-roasting. A beast skewered that way would probably just fall into the fire.”
“Then we need a different term,” came Brenda’s voice, “for this particular exploitation of a woman by two men. I appoint you to coin it.”
I put one hand on Brenda’s clit and the other just above Garth’s butt crack. Okay, this could work for me. I get a big thrill from genital contact with both genders at once. Garth’s prick was busy, but there was no mistaking his sparsely hairy lower back as anything but male. For me, a truly bisexual act is different from both straightness with a woman and gayness with a man. Gripping hard male glutes, while fingering a clit hood and pressing on what thickened inside it, had me way more stoked than I’d be from merely savoring the wondrous exchange of sensations by my thrusting cock and Brenda’s throttling quim.
Almost too stoked. I forced myself to bank my blaze while keeping up what I was doing to both partners. They were huffing and yelping and squirming. I leaned forward and licked Garth’s back, while getting two fingers down his crack. He yipped, head snapping back, but didn’t avoid what I did or ask that I stop. He also rose up slightly, his butt getting clear of Brenda’s gut. My view was limited, but the angle of his arms suggested that he was holding his wife’s breasts, maybe thumbing the nips, as he fucked between them. As large as Brenda’s jugs were, I knew them to be very pleasurable for her. Orgasmic? Still didn’t know.
In something of a rub-stomach/pat-head exercise, I got the two fingers on Garth repeatedly from perineum to crack without touching anus, and the thumb on Brenda encircling her reddening clit, while I still fucked. All of our bodies were twitching. Garth started yelling first, but Brenda quickly followed, despite (or because of?) the spume probably splattering her chin. At last I let loose my surge, my hands falling away, going palms-down on the bed as my body lurched.
After grunts, whoofs, and gasps, I heard Brenda say, “Honey, repair the spit.”
Chuckling, Garth knee-walked to beyond her head. Brenda raised enough to lick his still-rigid dick. With regret I withdrew from her, but claimed consolation by leaning down to her torso. Fondling and kissing what I desired, I accepted, as she did, the taste of Garth’s gunk.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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