Christy, my wife, and I took a trip last weekend to the coast. Los Angeles was hot and dry, and a wicked, hot wind blew down from the mountains, putting my nerves on a raw edge. Even at night, the Santa Anna wind blew through, adding the oppressive heat.

My wife didn’t notice the heat, her own body heat was hotter than the wind. She always ran warm, about 99.9 or 100 degrees. And it wasn’t a fever, not from illness, at least. No, her fire, sparked by her natural lust, is always there. For years Christy made no secret she wanted us to try swinging.

As for me, on swinging, I had less than a passing interest. I feared once she’d had a bigger cock, she’d no longer find my smaller-sized prick sufficient.

But you know how some women are. Christy’s continuous harping, pestering, nagging, whatever you want to call it, caused me to weaken on the idea. I haven’t an idea where she found it, but she had this sex newspaper. The fuck rag advertised a bash open to members and nonmembers alike at a local swing club. Also, it said, “Single men and women are welcome at the party.”

If I’m honest, I can’t keep up with my wife, and the thought of watching her fucking another man while I fuck his wife sparked my imagination. With this said, I had reservations about opening this door to our relationship.

We’d only been married a year. I was 24 years old, and Christy was 21. We had decades of life together in front of us. This swinging thing, well, it would be a leap, not a step. Despite my hesitance, she wanted to try it, and maybe it wouldn’t be all she hoped for.

“Can we please go there?” Christy looked at me with her big, bright blue eyes. “We’ll do a soft swing, no fucking, just oral. Please?”

“Okay,” I said, as my cock reacted positively. How my wife had stayed a virgin until I fucked her on our honeymoon, shit fire, I don’t know. In fact, that is the great mystery of my wife. In the back of my mind, a pestering voice worried me with an unending warning, ‘This is a mistake.’

My desire was to give her what she wanted, and hopefully, she’d realize she didn’t want this after all. A little louder in my mind, ‘This is a mistake.’

I pushed the voice from my mind, and as we walked into the club, I thought maybe, just maybe, my plan would work. The joint, packed to the rafters, gave off a cheap, nasty vibe. Freakish folks crowded into the main room. Women and men wore leather. They had massive amounts of makeup caked on the guys’ and gals’ faces, intermixed with more normal-looking couples, and tons of single men drifted about.

The single men circled the couples like sharks, ready to attack.

‘This is a mistake.’ Again, I pushed the pestering warning from my mind.

Nonetheless, I felt uneasy, excited, and terrified, rotating between the emotions as each battled for supremacy. Being we’re both short, me 5 feet 5, and her not quite 5 feet tall, I felt threatened in some undefined way. That isn’t to say there weren’t shorter people, but most, especially the men, stood tall. Women over five foot seven, men well above six feet. And there were the black men, tall, brawny fellers with muscles and massive bulges in their trousers.

The opportunities, danger, and airborne sexuality was a stimulant. One can lose oneself in this and not perceive when things take a turn.

Christy always told me she’d never want a cock bigger than mine. “Four inches is a perfect fit,” she said. So I felt confident she’d reject any of these men. Besides, only one couple was black, and the rest of the Negros were single, rough-looking men.

Believe me, I wasn’t a racist. However, black men, large Negros, scare the shit out of me.

The black woman approached us. “Hey, I’m Tydye. Jamil, my husband, and I would love to be with y’all in a room we booked. Let me make it clear, just you and me,” Tydye said to my wife.

“Oh, I’d love to try that,” Christy said. Turning to me, she turned on the teasing charm. “Please, baby doll, let me try some lesbo action?”

“Well, yeah, that sounds fine, but what will Jamil and I do?” I asked.

The woman held her hand up, wrapped her fingers like she held a cock, and pumped her fist. “Jacky and her sisters can be your friends. If you know what I mean.”

Of course, I understood her meaning. Still, her husband was a giant with the biggest pant bulge I had seen. I wanted to deny my wife this, but couldn’t find any reason. We’d agreed to a soft swap, and what would be better than her with a woman and the husband and me jacking. Though I worried about my cock being compared to his by Christy.

Then again, my wife had always claimed my cock was a perfect size. So, what was there to worry me? Off the top of my head, the man was twice my size, height and weight wise, and the more than impressive bulge told him at least two or three times larger than me there, too.

He walked up to us, tall, dark, handsome, with a touch of darkness not associated with his skin color. The mischievous, mysterious darkness women find appealing. Stretching out his right hand, he took mine, covering it, and I winced. Not from pain, but fear of what those oversized paws might do to me.

“Sorry, man, didn’t realize I squeezed so hard,” he said while releasing his hold. “I’m Jamil.”

“It’s okay. I’m Richard,” I said.

“You’re okay, Rickie,” he said.

The way he said it took me back. I was sure he’d used it as a putdown. However, as it was my niece’s name, I might be sensitive to its use for me. Jamil led the way, pulling a key card from his shirt pocket. We slowly climbed a flight of stairs. Our footsteps echoed in the darkened hall as we walked to a room at the back. He pushed the card into a slot, the light on the door went from red to green, a buzz emitted from the door lock, and Jamil pushed the door open.

He slid his hand around my arm, closed his fingers, not quite roughly, and he directed me into the room. His hand moved to my shoulder, still moving me to a small bed across from a king-sized bed. He turned me toward the bed, and I followed his lead. He turned me again, with a tug and twitch of my shoulder, and sat me on the bed. Again, I did what he wanted. A strange churning rumbled silently through my belly as he talked to me.

“You’re alright, Rickie,” he repeated himself from before. “Letting my wife and your wife have fun. Lots of boys don’t allow this, you know.” He stared at me, and his gaze was intense, like he looked inside me.

“Well, it’s just a soft swap. What harm can come from that?”

“Your hair, long like it is, really sets your face off. Blonde hair and tanned skin go well together. Yeah, your long hair really shows off how ... handsome you are.” He lifted his eyebrows three times when he said, “Handsome.”

The wives were kissing and undressing each other, but he didn’t take his dark eyes off me. Agitation pestered my mind as he continued to speak, shaking my confidence in myself and my projected image.

“If I’m truthful, you’re not handsome so much as lovely,” he said. His big mitt left hand moved from my right shoulder across my neck, brushing my long hair as it passed under it to my right shoulder. “And your hands, oh, baby, you got small, sweet sexy hands. Long, slender, girlish fingers. They look soft too. Gonna feel incredible on my prick.”

“I ain’t that way. My wife likes me to wear my hair this way,” I insisted in a faltering voice. Trying to move away, he camped his long, large fingers on the front of my shoulder and his giant thumb on the back and squeezed.

“Don’t be that way,” Jamil said, digging his thumb deep into my shoulder. “I compliment you, and you pull away from me. Your wife understands you better than you do.”

“I’m not gay or bi,” I said as tears trickled.

“Sure, I get it.” Jamil leaned to my ear and whispered, “You’re a girl who wants some cock to suck.”

Pulling away from me, Jamil’s right hand came to my face. With this oddly gentle touch, he brushed my tears away with his big thumb. First, one cheek, then the other. The man’s face was dark and ruggedly handsome. With powerful, amber eyes, he gazed into mine. With tenderness, he moved his fingers across my cheek. He caressed my chin, his fingers dancing down my neck, passing across my chest further and further until he rested his hand on my crotch.

I looked away from him and glanced toward my wife. Her face buried between the woman’s legs, and Tydye’s hands clutched the back of Christy’s head, forcing my wife deep into Tydye’s crotch.

Their bodies had ripe fullness, and Tydye was considerably stouter. The black woman’s body was molded pleasantly. Her eyes were near too black, and her hair was dark as a raven. She had a thick patch of curly hair about her pussy, and my wife munched just below the profuse patch.

The sight sent shivers through me. I tried to concentrate on them, but Jamil’s touch drove me insane. Precum leaked from my cock, making a small wet spot where his palm rested. My eyes stung, and my throat tightened as tears streamed down my face.

“Why you doing that? Stop being coy, stop the waterworks, and admit what you want and need. Your clity is all hard, baby doll. Your fem didn’t know till I touched you, but you do now.”

“I’m not,” I told him as he moved his hand back to my face and forced me to look at him again. His breath moved over my face, his lips parted, and he inched closer and closer. I closed my eyes. Jamil’s firm lips pushed against mine, his big fat tongue parted my mouth, and he drew me into him.

There was something in his kiss, something electric, something magnetic. The remnants of my masculinity fled me as I melted into him, and my body quivered in his arms. A mixture of fear and wonder ran rampant inside me. Out of some buried instinct, I moved my hand to his crotch. The massive monster responded, swelling, straining to escape its enclosure.

The soft, tender, loving kiss changed to hotter, fleshly, and wanton. My hands wrapped around Jamil, touching the carved body underneath his tight-fitting clothing. He pressed me to the mattress, freeing my shirt from my chest. Hard, callused hands roamed over my back and chest. Pinching, cupping small pecks like breasts.

Again, his hand found my cock. With a cupping of his hand, I lost my seed. With his ring and pinky, he massaged my balls while his index, middle finger, and thumb milked my cock. Breaking our kiss, Jamil drew back a few inches.

“I’m sorry,” I said, horrified at what happened.

“Shh, shh, shh, no, you’re a good girl,” he whispered.

“This is all so new,” I said.

Rising above me, he stripped his t-shirt from his body, exposing his carved rock-like muscles. Reaching up, I ran my hands over his chest and down his rippled belly. Still, I hadn’t smiled or changed my expression, and I was positive I looked like a frightened boy. My tongue darted out, licking my lips. The dryness of my mouth, throat, and lips bothered me.

Standing, he moved away, the knot in my belly clenched tight.

My eyes followed him while a dread spread from my stomach and found my heart. For a moment, I thought it would stop beating. But Jamil didn’t leave the room, leave me. Rather, he filled a glass with ice, poured a clear liquid into the glass, and stared at the women fucking on the other bed.

My wife sat with her back to the headboard. The tall black woman was between her legs, and Christy’s hips jerked, thrust, and twitched as the woman dined on her. All the while, Christy sucked her thumb, eyeballing me. She mouthed, “I love you.” Adding a moment later, a silent, “I knew.”

What did she mean, she knew? What did she know? The truth clicked in my brain — Christy always knew I wasn’t a real man. A crushing weight pressed into my mind. Currents of guilt, shame, and humiliation washed over as so many waves over a beach. I gazed at my cum, covered crotch, seeing my small prick pushed a tiny tent in my khakis.

With no sneaky way to hide from her what was happening, no clandestine corner out of view, I’d exposed my weakness to her. A flaw I hadn’t even understood I had. And he, that magnificent stallion, saw through me like glass.

As he ambled back to me, the glass in his hand, his eyes drinking me into him, I pondered if his gaze was deeper. Did he see me for what I was? Had he, with his stare, powerful touch, and burning kiss, turned me into what he desired me to be?

Jamil handed me the glass. “Water, drink it down. You gonna need to stay hydrated, baby girl.”

Taking the glass, holding it to my mouth, with greed, I downed the fluid. The water dribbled from the sides of my mouth, flowed over my chin, and down my neck. I tried to swallow quickly and gulped the entire glass without stopping.

To read this story you need a Registration + Premier Membership
If you have an account, then please Log In or Register (Why register?)

Get this story at Bookapy

When a Plan Falls Apart

Mary Not Wollstonecraft

$2.99

Get three complete stories at Bookapy

Mary’s Play-Around Wives: Collection Two

Mary Not Wollstonecraft

$3.24