Fact
13/11/2020


Perhaps I should pause and reflect upon the personal drivers behind Jane’s – and mine, to be fair – enthusiastic entrance into the swinging lifestyle. Why do we do it? Have you, fellow swingers, ever thought about this?

Funnily enough, while writing that, I was reminded of a swing club meeting where I was truly anticipating a nice time with a much younger, quite beautiful and highly intelligent art curator. Her and I had connected over NZD, met with our partners as a foursome for a wild time in a bar one night –lots of groping on the dance floor and in our cubicle – and arranged this meet a few days later to consummate the hookup. Her partner was older than me, even, and I had nearly a couple of decades on this young woman. That full story can wait for another time, but the point here is that when we partnered up on the club bed, and after she had sweetly used her mouth to draw me to full attention, I gently enquired as how she would like to be fucked.

“Anyway you want,” she replied, “do it any way you want. I don’t care. I’ve been waiting for this all week. Just fuck me.”

Her partner heard this even as he was busily exploring Jane’s body and actually looked a bit shocked. The moral is that while it’s usually men who initiate the sexual adventurism, women will often then take charge of their own experiences. Just look at the first chapter of this series. Yours truly was basically a spectator, but I was one who altered her profile from straight to naughty and there must be some deep rooted reason for that. To be honest, though, I don’t really care. I had for too much fun to worry about self-examination.

And I discovered that marital discord between spouses as the female chose her own path to trod was not that uncommon. For example, I was once dancing naked with a similarly naked woman at a club who’s partner insisted, when I requested the dance, “You can dance, but that’s all. We don’t have sex with others,” he insisted, firmly, somewhat insecurely, I thought. Sure enough, when a slow song came on, causing us to move closer together, close enough that my growing penis was nuzzling her pubic hair, and my hands started to wander over her lovely, firm buttocks, her husband appeared, protesting.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” she snapped at him. “It was your idea to come here, but you don’t get to decide who I fuck.” With that, she led me to a play room where hubby watched, seething, while we passionately fucked in front of his glaring eyes, which seemed to only heighten her ardor. “Fuck him,” she whispered in my ear more than once, “Fuck him. Do me good!”

So what’s the answer to the question, why do we do it? For both sexes, variety seems to rate highly. I’ve seen women look at an impressive cock, or a particularly nice one, a well presented one, and make moves to dally with its owner. Jane liked the occasional big, really big penis and often didn’t pay much attention to the human to whom it was attached. It was fun watching the succession of fleeting expressions pass over her face as it penetrated deeper and deeper – I had cause to be grateful for the well-known elasticity of the vagina: I could still touch the sides even after a monster.

For women, being desired is also a common theme. Hence the marital discord, as above, when a women is seduced over her husband’s wishes. After all, what women doesn’t like to dress sexy, flaunting her desirability, which often goes unnoticed by her own partner?

But does it start earlier that the first swing? What if the root cause lies with possessing a naturally divergent and creative personality, normally constrained by the relatively rigid and rule-bound society we live in, and sexual adventurism is a way expressing that divergency and creativity? Letting it all hang out, literally.

And it’s a hobby relatively safe from public exposure, too, because, let’s face it, one teacher spotting another at a swing party or club is not likely to spill the beans and implicate themselves, are they? There must be, and I’m sure there is, a secret swingers code of honour thriving below the surface conformity. So, to the story…

Friday night, we called in for dinner at our local, Jane’s winter coat covering her skimpy attire, then headed off to the address provided at about 9:00pm, with a couple of bottles of wine in hand. She was particularly looking forward to the promised tantric massage, another of the stud’s attractions.

“Just sit and watch quietly,” she implored, as we arrived. “You’ll know when to join in the fun.”

Her stud greeted us at the door, shook hands with me and politely pecked Jane on her cheek, then ushered us into a utilitarian single man’s flat with pride of place given to a sturdy looking massage table in the living area. He gave me three glasses for the wine and turned to face Jane. Jane sensed the slight awkwardness of the moment, and quickly moved up to her tippy toes to kiss him. It turned into a long kiss. Jane continued to take the lead and suggested she move to the massage table. She stripped without hesitation, pirouetting with her hands on her head to allow him a decent look at the flesh he had been lusting over and laid herself on the table on her tummy. I settled into an armchair, keeping the bottle close since I (correctly) figured they could be a while.

After completely disrobing to reveal his beautiful, semi-erect cock, he spent about 30mins massaging her in this position. It was standard massage technique, neck, shoulders back, and I could tell Jane was getting real benefit out of it. After about 20mins, taking a break, I presumed, when he finished with her upper back he gently got her to lift her head and take his penis into her mouth, which she did with obvious relish. She stretched out an arm and massaged his balls, as well, which I enjoyed watching as a gentle balls massage is one of my favourites. The next 10 mins was spent on her buttocks and legs, with nothing overtly sexual until, immediately after finishing her calves, he parted her legs, moved his hands to between her thighs and appeared from my view to slip a finger or two into what surely was by now a very wet vagina. Boy, did I feel like tugging on my willy!

A long sigh drifted out between her lips as she visibly relaxed even more, savouring his touch in that sweetest of spots. He was experienced, though, and didn’t overdo it, soon asking her to turn over. She looked at me as she did, and I pointed to her wine, with an enquiring expression.

“Oh, good idea.” Telling her stud to join her on the couch with his wine, we chatted for a while, short versions of life stories, including the motorcycle accident in his early 20s that cost him his left leg below the knee. My father suffered a similar fate at a similar age, except his was a horrific head injury, so we had an interesting chat about that, interrupted by Jane ostentatiously returning to the table where she laid on her back with her legs well and truly apart. Not much subtlety there. Message received!

Testing my self control again, the stud massaged her breasts, pinching her nipples to add to her obvious arousal. I wanted to tell him to suck on one nipple while I took the other, but restrained myself, which she said later she was grateful for. She wanted to see what he had in mind, not just a repeat of my familiar ministrations. It wasn’t long before he moved his hands to her clean shaven pubic region, making circles with his hands, before fingering her vagina and clitoris. Then he picked up a string of beads, feeding them into her aching pussy. Once in, he placed his penis back in her mouth, stroking in and out, reaching deep into her throat. She loved to practice this skill; I never knew her not to swallow the entire length of any penis we encountered.

Meanwhile, I was getting quietly pissed and must have been distracted by my thoughts as the pair moved from the massage table to the bed, discarding the beads. I dimly noticed she lay on her back with her knees drawn up and wide apart, and woke up when he took off his artificial leg, and lined up his straight, stiff cock with her waiting pussy. It was at this moment when I realised it was, for me, time speak up or forever keep any doubts to myself. I chose the latter as I watched him feed his shaft into my girlfriend.

He fucked her on her back. He fucked her doggy style. He fucked her lying flat on her tummy, her legs clamped tightly. He fucked her mouth again. He sat astride her and fucked her tits. He fucked her with her legs on his shoulders and it was that position that finally put him over the edge. I saw him tense and hold and flop his weight onto Jane’s willing body as she eased her feet back to the bed. It was beautiful to watch. And he was done, spent, finished, fucked.

I took his place, and the strong smell of fresh semen drifted into my nostrils as I took advantage of her well-warmed and well-lubricated love tunnel. She looked up at me, her face suffused with pleasure.

“Oh, you feel really good,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Go on, fuck your pussy. It’s yours. Fuck it hard…” and she murmured encouragement until the second load of semen shot deep into her pussy.

We all rested on the bed, chilling over a wine or two, until Jane and I took our leave. As an introduction to expanding our sex life, overall, it was a great success. Except she didn’t orgasm until after we got back to our own bed, and I could employ the tactics I had explained in great detail just the previous night to our stud. Like every single one of the men we invited into our bed, or wherever, as soon as the honey pot was laid open and willing before their eyes, instructions went out the window.

Just like me when I jumped out of a plane. I forgot all the instructions and advice on how to make it easy for the instructor I was strapped to. So I can’t talk. And her orgasm after we got home from parties became a feature of our love life we came to treasure.