Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, BiSexual, Swinging, Group Sex, Orgy, Safe Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Cream Pie, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, School,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A sequel to Weekend at Grandma's. Amber has now gone on to college and sorority life, where she has several things to consider, her love life, her swinging, and her future.
I always liked partying at Sarah's because she provided hangers. I'd left the sorority wearing a freshly pressed dress, and I would get all sorts of comments if it got wrinkled beyond what you would expect from just sitting in a car. Sarah had hangers for the girls—guys don't care as much about their clothes—and a little bag for shoes and underthings. With all of that out of the way, my date and I joined everyone else.
A proper party has a food table that everyone contributs to. This is important. You can work up quite an appetite, and a little restorative food can help tide you over. It was either that, or eating like it was going out of style when I got back to the sorority, and that would raise too many questions.
My date's name was Wesley and so far he was working out. They tell you to never date anyone you meet at a swinger's party, but where else was I to meet guys who were interested in the same things I was? Wesley was good-looking enough that my sorority sisters thought he was cute.
It's a good thing guys don't hear the comments girls make about them. The general rule of thumb was you dated a guy because he was cute, he was interesting, he was going to be rich, or he had a tremendous dick. Wesley had two of those attributes: he had a good-sized dick, and he was cute. I only admitted to the second one; we were supposed to be virginal, though the person who thinks any girl who reaches her twenties without some sexual experience is living in a fool's paradise. It's just that I had a lot more sexual experience than the average girl, both average-wise, and in terms of sheer numbers. Swinging will give that to you.
So after eating, Wesley and I circulated. We soon hit it off with a couple, and retired to the mattresses in the middle of the floor to get to know each other better. He was fun and a little adventurous, and we had a really good time together. He liked to cuddle, too, which sometimes is the best part of sex ... okay, the second best part. You can decide for yourself what the best part is.
After a rest—I was still charged up, but Wesley needed a few minutes, we began circulating again. Overall we partied with three couples by the time the night was over. Wesley was absolutely whipped.
That's one of the big differences I've noticed between high school and college. Guys are more interested, but after 18 or 19 they begin to lose a little stamina. It makes me glad I'm a girl. I'd hate it if I could only come two or three times in one night. And multiple orgasms ... There were times I really enjoyed being a girl, and when the third guy helped me up into one, I was in Seventh Heaven.
Any climax is wonderful, but when it rolls on and on and on, and the highs keep happening, it's beyond words. You feel an especial tenderness toward the guy who helped you get there.
"I'm Amber," I told him when my breathing had returned to normal. He was lying on top of me, and my skin felt electric. I was touching him everywhere, and that was almost exciting enough to start me in again.
We looked at each other for a few seconds, and then he burst out laughing. "Do we shake hands or something?"
"I don't believe Miss Manners has ever ruled on the situation." I felt his dick slide out of me. "However she probably wouldn't like what just happened."
"She isn't the only one. I'd have preferred it stay there."
"Me too." I sighed. "It's not to be, though. I can feel your come sliding down my bottom."
"There should be plenty there, I don't think I've come that hard in some time."
"If you can stand, would you join me in cleaning up?"
He laughed again. "Sure. The tricky part might be standing up. Right now your legs are wrapped around mine, and..."
I got the hint and we slowly untangled. He did have trouble standing—you're welcome!—but eventually we got to our feet. There wasn't a line at the bathroom, that was a surprise, and he joined me in the shower.
Now we'd just had sex, so I wasn't unfamiliar with his body. But there's something dead-sexy about running your hands over a guy's body. It's hard in all sorts of interesting places, and while he didn't get it up again, not that I think he could have done much with it if he had, we got to make sure we were both clean.
Most girls wisely don't let guys clean between their legs. Soap can be an irritant, and there are some places you should not itch, that being one of them. But Frank made sure his hands were soap free before he went down there. He helped give me a finger-douche, enough to get most of the remains of his passion out of me. He also made sure my boobs were sparkling clean, and even helped me with my hair.
I'm a natural redhead, and my hair has a distressing habit of sticking together at the slightest drop of come. That's all too common an occurrence at a swinger's party, and brushing it doesn't help, it doesn't get rid of the smell, and house mothers and sorority sisters have incredibly keen noses.
I cleaned his "equipment", but I really like washing a guy's chest and shoulders. Sure, his dick was an important muscle, one I liked having in me fairly often, but a girl gets turned on by the chest and shoulders, or at least I do. It's so different than my chest with its two bags of fat and glands, and a girl picks up on that. Guys can remove their shirts in public, and girls like that; I just got to touch and run my hands over these chests, something a lot of girls can only do in their fantasies.
After we dried off he made me sit between his legs while he brushed out my hair. In high school it had been shoulder length, but after four years of junior college and regular college it was halfway down my back. I liked the longer look, and let my hair hang free as often as possible, restrained only by a band, unless I pulled it back in a pony tail.
I only reluctantly got dressed. Part of the whole swinger experience is the handing out while nude. When I was 15 I was uneasy about this because, well, you're not supposed to look. But now I could openly admire guys, and girls, and nobody minded. It was an "unlooked" for benefit of these parties.
One of the sad truths in any place where people can be naked in a social setting is that not everyone is good-looking with a gorgeous body. We girls are very good at hiding the little pooches of our tummies, or how our waists are just a hair thicker than we would like. And don't even get us started on our thighs! No woman is really happy with her body. You always want different-sized boobs, or a tinier waist, or even a curvier butt. Guys especially don't understand why a girl would want smaller boobs, but if they couldn't walk around without a bra they'd understand. When I was 12 I didn't need a bra, and could run like I had when I was 10. By about halfway through my fourteenth year I most definitely needed the support. By the time I was 16 I was probably the biggest girl in my P.E. Class, but when I got to college I saw that there were others larger than me. Some bought their size, but most had done what I'd done: grown them on our own.
Guys liked bigger boobs, and didn't understand why I felt sympathy for the girl in my morning dance class who needed a bra that came in DD size. The poor girl's back would kill her until she found a bra that fit. At least I could buy mine with only a little fiddling and trying on in the store. Girls who were larger usually needed special orders.
After Frank and I got cleaned up and dressed I went looking for my date. He and Frank's wife wee still going at it. I watched for a couple of minutes. I still could feel the stirrings of arousal, but they were pretty muted. And then Wesley came, and things slowed to a stop.
It took a while for them to clean up, but finally Wesley and Frank's wife joined us at the buffet table. Everyone was tired, and we sat there sipping our preferred drinks—at a swinger party they're almost all non-alcoholic because the idea is to not blunt the sensation—and watching the last few people still partying.
There's something almost hypnotic about the regular rise and fall of naked butts, the bounce of naked boobs, and the swinging of someone's hair. These were punctuated by moans, groans, and the occasional half-muted shriek. It's one of those peculiar things that the closer a girl gets to her peak, the higher pitch her voice gets. We could hear that all over the room; swinging girls who can't come from straight sex are almost impossible to find. Guys might respond with a deep groan, a roar, or the ever-popular "uh-uh-uh" as their own moment took them over the top.
There are a lot of things common to a swinger's party, and giggling is one of them. You get much happier with sex, and if you throw in a climax or two, well, your joy is almost unmatched. Add in a couple more climaxes, and, well, you get the picture. Every girl in the place was in a good mood.
"First class party," Wesley said as we took our leave. Sarah had put on a robe, but it gaped open in some interesting places, not that a woman's body did much for me, but her skin felt warm as we hugged. I was more interested in hugging Sarah's boyfriend, Tony. His skin was just as warm, but he was firm where Sarah was soft.
"Glad you came," Sarah said with a mischievous smile. She was a slender brunette in her thirties and taught at LSU.
I smiled in response. It was a joke in the local swinging community. We all enjoyed the sex, but we also enjoyed the 'coming'. You could certainly have the former without the latter, but something like 99% of the women involved in social sex climaxed from straight sex (the average among women was 38%) we were always "glad we came".
"I'm sure you'll see us at the next party," I added.
"I had a good time," I told Wesley when he escorted me up the walk at the sorority house. He already knew that; it was said for the eavesdropping House Mother.
"How about Saturday night?" he asked. That was another party night, one where there wasn't a house imposed curfew.
"How about 6:30? We could get a bite to eat beforehand."
"Sounds like a plan."
There was a sheltered nook next to the front door that gave us the illusion of privacy, at least from the street, and we shared a kiss. Then, with the forms properly met, I headed in.
I'd never expected to pledge a sorority. Wasn't that for the socially connected or something? But Mom and Krystal were both adamant. Krys was a law student—yes, my dumb sister was in Law School!!!--and she'd valued it for the contacts it brought. Mom had pressured me to pledge.
I'd never paid that much attention to what Mom did outside of the home. I knew she did volunteer work for the Red Cross, but I thought it was organizing local donations or something. I hadn't realized she was a Director for the whole region. I knew she'd been gone in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, but when you're a teenage girl you don't pay attention to things like that. Little did I know...
So, after all of the pressure, I pledged. I knew I would be accepted. I was a "legacy", which meant Mom had influence with the Sorority. Krystal was an Active, and that didn't hurt either. Both cautioned me that I had to keep my social activities a little quieter. A sorority can be a real hotbed of gossip, and girls are always looking for ways to either one-up someone, or put down the competition. And even if they don't, there is an incredible pressure to learn everyone else's business. Any collection of women will soon know nearly every little secret about each other. Nearly.
I'd had some experience with this already, but I soon realized that those were the minor leagues compared to what I was experiencing. I didn't do any partying my first few weeks. Partly that was because I didn't know who to contact, or how. My partying had always been with Mom and Dad, so I was at sea here. And perhaps that was for the best. Certainly a girl who didn't go out very much, a small-town girl, wouldn't have the social contacts the other girls would have. Wasn't that one of the reasons why you joined a sorority?
We had mixers, and I went to a few of those. I'd actually forgotten how to interact with boys when it wasn't sexual. After all, in high school I'd only dated boys who were in the swinging scene as well. This kind of meant that we did see the occasional movie, but we mostly went to a party and had sex with the other attendees.
Every time I thought about that I thought of Eric. He'd gone to Georgia Tech, majoring in Mechanical Engineering, and I missed him. We still talked on the phone every week or so, but it wasn't the same. We'd finally agreed to sort of wait for each other, kind-of-sort-of, but with no promises. I was a girl, he was a guy, and that was accepted, but ... Anyway, he wasn't there to party with, and I missed that.
Krystal actually got me hooked up with the local swingers at LSU. She wasn't into partying, but she knew I was, and got me the contact I needed. My sister! I'd thought her as dumb as a box of rocks, maybe more so, back when we were in high school. Boy, she'd changed.
Krystal is a blonde, but she wasn't quite pretty enough for the cheer squad. She wasn't quite blonde enough for other things, and she managed to step out of her "blondeness" and begin making something of herself. First, she tinted her hair, but I was the only one who knew that. Others would have made themselves more blonde, she went darker. Suddenly she wasn't a blonde, and hence a "bimbo"; she had light brown hair, and the impression that she could have gone for the blonde look, but ... Then she did the four years of pre-Law in three years. That got all sorts of interest. She was determined to be a lawyer for some reason, and went at it with the same single-minded ferocity that I probably had with my social life.
One of the fall-outs of the first few years of the 21st Century was a total revamping of Law. It started in Louisiana, but we weren't up against entrenched interests. Our legal traditions were descended from the Code Napoleon, not English Common Law, and judges had no qualms about throwing out lawsuits that they deemed were without merit. The Tort Reform Movement after the excesses of the previous thirty years didn't hurt (after all, all of those lawyers had to earn a living). It was a challenging field, especially in Louisiana where you had to balance different legal traditions, but Krys was determined to do so. She'd blitzed the LSATs, wangled the appointment—they stopped letting just anyone in Law School, another bit of fall-out from the excesses of a few years before—and was now studying Law, or "reading at it" as the local tradition held.
I thought of this as I passed her room on the second floor of the sorority. I could see the light on under her door. She was hard at it, reading and studying. I didn't want to talk with her after my date, we'd do that later. Instead I paused, gave the two knocks on her door that let her know her little sister was back, and then went upstairs to my room.
My roommate's name was Sarah Jane, which was kind of ironic. She was sitting on her bed with a lap desk and working on something. It looked like math, something she had to have a lot of for her major (economics). I nodded politely and started getting ready for bed.
"Have a good time?" she asked.
"Had a great time," I said truthfully.
Because of an English Lit course I'd gotten to be a big fan of irony. My social life was divided into two parts: first, and the one most common, was here in the sorority house, where I dressed up a little—high necklines, sleeves at least halfway to my elbow, and modest skirts or slacks but seldom jeans, unless I was ready for bed, in which case it was a knee-length sleep-tee and a big robe that covered everything—and my less public one, which was always done naked and usually with me flat on my back, or perhaps on my hands and knees. Quite frankly I preferred the latter to the former. I enjoyed being naked, I had a nice body to show off, and I liked being around other people who were naked. But unlike the nudists, being naked wasn't an end in itself. I treated nudity the way most people did: as something sexual. And I took full advantage of the opportunities I encountered when naked.
But this wasn't that social setting. This was my college roommate. I stripped down to my panties, and then slid into my sleep-tee. Then the robe and slippers. I was now ready to do the last of my homework.
A lot of girls would have gone to sleep after getting home from a date. I was too charged up for that, and so I put all of that energy to a productive use. I cracked the textbook and dove in. It'd been a fun evening, I felt thoroughly relaxed, and I had some reading in Medieval History 402 to finish. It would have helped if Sarah Jane hadn't felt the need to talk.
"Amber? A question?"
"What is it."
"Boys. I can't seem to meet any, but you never have that problem. How do you do it?"
I almost burst out laughing. "With this body? I have trouble turning boys away, and—"
"See, that's just it. How—"
"Of course they only see the body, they don't see me." That was a gripe every girl with a nice body had. "If you played up your best physical features, you'll meet boys. Of course they'll only have one thing on their mind."
"Do they ever have anything else they think about?" This was a common question I think every girl had.
"Sure. Sports, cars, things like that. A few of them, too few in my opinion, think about anything else. But even the nerds think about sex almost all of the time. Of course only a few have the confidence, or courage, to try to carry out their dreams."
"Yeah, but would you like to know a boy who only looks at you with 'bedroom' on his mind?"
Sara Jane wasn't bad looking. She was petite, but nicely curved. She had a cute face, the kind a lot of girls would like to have. But she had her doubts, and late at night was when they most often came to visit.
"You want some advice, don't hang out with the other girls at the mixers. Be active, seek out the boys."
"But I thought they were supposed to make the first move."
"They are, but you have to let them know you're receptive to their advances."
"But a girl—"
"Will be a wallflower her whole life it she doesn't take matters into her own hands, at least a little." Eric had told me how nervous he'd gotten when it was time to call a girl and ask her out. He'd seemed surprised when I told him about the other side of it, how you hung on every phone call, worried that he'd call, worried that he wouldn't. A girl is a mass of emotions, and uncertainty like that didn't help. Of course in our case we'd skipped through a lot of the heartache, but that was because we had something in common; we'd met at a party, and things had progressed from there. But I'd been the aggressor, and that had colored my views of everything.
Boys didn't see how we girls competed with each other. A "nice" girl wasn't too forward. But unless she wanted to be a spinster, she had to push herself in front of the other girls. It was a delicate line to walk. One of the reasons a lot of girls joined a sorority was so some of the social pressure was taken off her. We always had a social function on Friday night, and so whether you wanted to or not, you were almost compelled to meet guys. We also did Saturday afternoon functions, again to meet boys. We even had a committee that talked with their counterparts in fraternities so there was always something cooking.
"The thing you have to do," I said, "is don't hang out with the other girls. I know you do, we all do, but catch some boy's eye and smile. Guys get intimidated by a mass of girls in a group. They know they're being judged and they don't like it. So if you smile, they won't see you as sizing them up, and you'll be more likely to attract someone."
"But won't the other girls object?"
"Some of them will no matter what you say or do. But if you dress conservatively, and smile, then they'll seem petty." I couldn't believe I was having to spell this out to her. She must have led a lot more sheltered life than anyone else I'd ever met.
"Where did you go to school? Most girls know this before they turn 16."
She blushed and looked down. "It was an all-girl's school run by our church."
Ah hah! "So you didn't date much."
"No, not really. I was told I could date once I got to college."
"Which is now." I sighed to myself. I had my work cut out for me. "Okay, let's start at the basic thing: a lot of boys will want to get you into bed, but you can control how far that goes. That's the whole point of these social mixers. You can meet boys in safe, controlled situations. If you stayed in the dorms you'd find the same thing. We just move in better circles." There was more, and I spent the next hour trying to be frank about the prospects of meeting boys, but without loading her down with too much to worry about. A girl can be a mass of insecurities, and I wasn't about to play on them. They were things a girl had to learn for herself.