The tiki torch in the front yard told us we were in the right place. Admittedly, I was a little nervous about the swinger party. It was our first and I had no idea what to expect. Mr. K was anxious too, but his worry differed from mine. Again, he expressed his fear of not being able to get hard in a group setting. Again, I laughed, blowing out a breath when he took my hand as we walked toward the front door. He seemed to sense the familiar flutter of wings as the butterflies flitted around in my stomach and he worked to calm them, reminding me that, as always, we would leave if the right vibe wasn’t there or if we didn’t connect with prospective playmates. He didn’t need to say it out loud for me to know it was true, but there were times when hearing the words gave that little reassuring boost and this was one of those moments. Like he knew it would, his affirmation settled my unease, and by the time we stepped over the threshold into our first house party, I was sure and tall in my stilettos. Seriously. I’m like 5’10” in heels. Swear.
The hosts, J & M, were super gracious, greeting us with shots of something strong and a tour of their home. Early in the night, the ambiance was what you would expect to find at any friendly gathering. There was food, booze, music, and porn. Okay, so maybe porn playing on a big-screen TV isn’t the norm at just any kind of party. Nor was the supposed “down to fuck” agenda of the attendees. But that was where we were confused, because as the night crept on, no one was fucking. They weren’t even making out. We questioned whether or not we were really at the right place, more than once asking each other why aren’t people fucking? WHERE IS ALL THE FUCKING?
We rolled with the flow of the evening, drinking more shots of something high on the proof scale while we mingled and chatted about life in general with other swingers we’d met. Some poked fun at my southern twang while my feet ached and a trickle of sweat rolled down my back. I gathered my hair on the back of my head, hoping for some sort of air circulation to cool me down a little. It was hot up in there, y’all. Mr. K tried to help, exposing my barely covered ass to the roomful of people behind us as he lifted my dress. Now that I say that, though, I wonder what his motive truly was– cool me down or show the ass he worships.
Still, no one was getting busy, and the the bulge in Mr. K’s pants told me whether it was alone or with others, he was ready to fuck.
I was aware of trailing eyes as Mr. K led me up the stairs to the master bedroom, and with the door ajar, he slid my panties down from underneath my dress and off over my heels, pushing me back on to the bed. As he opened my legs wide, I noticed others watching from the hallway. I found the idea of being watched incredibly hot, like porn, but without the cheesy background music. I moaned loudly, gripping the bedding I lay on top of when my orgasm ripped through me. When I opened my eyes, I found J standing beside the bed, watching as I came again. Mr. K asked if he would like to taste my pussy, and when I gave my permission, J dropped to his knees just as Mr. K shoved his hard cock into my waiting mouth. Being both devoured and used was an amazing feeling.
After J made me come, we exchanged thank you’s as he left the room, giving Mr. K and me the time we needed to regroup. He held me close, looking at me with limitless love in his eyes before he kissed me deeply. I relished the moment of intimacy before he stuffed my panties into his pants pocket while I checked myself in the bathroom mirror, doing what little I could with my sex hair.
We wandered back downstairs as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened and for us, I suppose, it hadn’t. We sat on the sofa with W and L, a couple we’d chatted with earlier. Mr. K and I both found L super sexy and knew right away we wanted to fuck her, but she was confused– and a little drunk –about my sexuality. She couldn’t tell if I was into women.
Here’s the thing– I love women. I love the soft curves and the taste of their bodies. I love making them writhe with pleasure, but I don’t consider myself to be bisexual. I am, however, heteroflexible, and what that means for me is that I need Mr. K’s supervisory penis in the room. It wasn’t the time or the place to explain my sexuality to her, though, so I leaned over Mr. K’s lap and kissed her lovely mouth. I didn’t need any prodding to kiss her and I didn’t do it to please Mr. K. I kissed her because I wanted to taste her soft lips; I kissed her because I wanted to fuck her.
Mr. K said it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen; even hotter than what I did to her upstairs a few moments later. He confessed he will be masturbating to the memory of it for a while to come. Heh. Come.
As we thanked our gracious hosts for an amazing night, I couldn’t help but giggle at M when she pouted that she didn’t get to at least see my boobs. So I showed them to her in the middle of their living room, because really, how could I not?
After Mr. K fed me the best burger and chocolate shake I’d ever had, we showered and snuggled into our bed. We made love and held each other close, talking about the events that had taken place during our first swinger party. He expressed his powerful love for me, again saying I’m the best girlfriend ever because I am, obviously.
