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18 minute read
Fascinating swinging thriller I found in Amazon at the Kindle store. Here's a couple of chapters.
“The urge is stronger now.”
Just five words, uttered in barely more than a whisper, and they were to have fatal consequences for a handful of unsuspecting souls. They came from a naked woman; standing with arms folded across her breasts, staring out at the lines of surf rolling into Lorne, on Victoria’s Great Ocean Road.
Her nakedness was hidden from the eyes of surfers and sun worshippers soaking up the last weeks of summer on the popular beach. She stood leaning against the balcony door, her privacy protected by the building’s setting in the bush-clad hillside. One hundred metres beneath her sat the Lorne Hotel, its vast beer garden covered with sun umbrellas that also blocked her from any observers tempted to stray from the beach view.
The sentence, though, had an audience. A naked male perched on the end of a king size bed, a laptop in front of him on the crumpled sheets. To most people the brief sentence was ambiguous. Not to the Companion.
“I’d better get busy then. I’ve reduced the search to a few contenders you might want to browse.”
The woman turned and walked towards the bed. She was petite and ethereal; fans of Hollywood movies in the 1950’s often see a strong resemblance to Grace Kelly. Her mother must have been prescient in naming her Grace.
Naturally pert breasts stood above a flat belly, her Mons Venus fashionably bare as well. The legs were slender and toned. The only imperfection was a thin scar that ran beneath her right jaw line. Delicate work by a world-class plastic surgeon meant most people hardly noticed it, yet Grace was always aware of it. Blue eyes helped make her the sort of woman that turned heads – both men and women.
Grace glanced down at the computer. There were pictures of several men, mostly naked. Two looked as if they were self portraits, done with a mobile phone in a bathroom mirror – selfies. Cocks erect and hands gripping them like they were poisonous snakes.
“Why do men choke their cocks like that?” grumbled Grace.
The Companion knew it was rhetorical and continued to tap away at the keyboard.
“Cocks are beautiful … sensual … made for pleasure,” said Grace as she reached around her companion to take his cock in her hand. She lovingly stroked it, bringing it to life. “Cocks are for worshipping.”
Grace continued to play with the lengthening cock, moving forward to rub it between her hand and cheek, while observing the online profile of the third man. He looked interesting. There were a variety of pictures, naked and clothed, taken in different locations – beach, bush, an apartment overlooking a marina and at a restaurant with friends. Their faces were obscured, not his. He was mid 30s, tanned, good looking and with more than a dash of confidence about him. A certain cock-sureness, Grace suspected. Confidence was a turn on, but arrogance wasn’t. His self promotion blurb described him as a ‘sexy, fun, adventurous business professional.’ Like the other men, he was looking for sex partners – women and couples.
“That one could be worthy.”
Once Grace made her selection a tingle of excitement slithered down her spine. It enveloped her body, arousing and producing a shudder. It was almost like a phantom presence had run a silky hand across her honey-colored skin; making her sway and twitch to its touch.
The Companion felt the subtle shifts in her body as the sensation rolled through. It was an enigma he’d witnessed many times before. There was no jealousy. The Companion knew he was her true love; the only person who really understood Grace. And his mission was to ensure Grace’s urges were always fulfilled … whatever the cost.
Robbie Tavistock’s 32-year-old fingers hovered over the keyboard. There were small flickers from the middle and index digits, almost trying to feel inspiration for the largely empty report that filled the screen on his desk top computer. The mind was barely on the job, the eyes were nowhere near it. They were across Toorak Road in the Melbourne suburb of South Yarra, absorbing the lithe form of the MILF emerging from the dry cleaners on the corner.
That she was a MILF was beyond doubt. Long sun-bleached hair spilled halfway down her back. Age? … probably mid 30s, and coated in an even tan from a long summer at the Portsea beach house. Further observation by Robbie noted shapely legs, lovely ass and good, firm breasts. The package was topped by an attractive face that wouldn’t look out of place on the red carpet at the Brownlow Medal Night. Very tasty indeed. The kids bouncing around in the back of the BMW X5 completed the package. Yes, Robbie pondered and, putting an Australian slant on the most memorable line from the American Pie movie, definitely a Mum I’d Like to Fuck.
Robbie chuckled. Shagging MILFs were fantasies that he enjoyed 20 times a day … just about every time he looked through the arched window of his first floor office and saw one of the local lovelies. Trendy South Yarra was full of MILFs … and the affluent loved to have others do their dirty laundry. Consequently, Robbie’s lustful musings were kept at a constant simmer on the days he spent in the office. Thank goodness for dirty laundry, was Robbie’s mantra as it also provided a large chunk of his business.
The Number 8 tram broke the spell; rattling away from the city towards Glenferrie Road. Then an electronic ping brought Robbie’s attention back into the office. It came from a laptop that sat to the right of the Dell. This wasn’t company business … it was much more interesting.
The antique captain’s chair protested as he swiveled to check the screen. It was open to a chat room. It was the continuation of a conversation that had meandered throughout the late afternoon.
Kwozi69: so, bro … how long since your last 3sum?
Robi10: what time is it?
Kwozi69: LMAO don’t be such a wanker … come on bro, cough.
Robbie was on computer a sex site. To be more precise, it was a swinger’s site; a place where people arrange sexual liaisons. It was sex for fun and pleasure – and no money – although professional ladies did try to catch the unwary. In this case, the chat room was part of RampantOzzies. And if the site’s own hyperbole was to be believed, there were approximately 11,576 horny Australians currently online trying to find sexy playmates – for the night, the weekend or even their lunch break. Some were even seeking naughty mates for the rest of their lives.
LMAO means laughing my ass off; basically it’s an online shortcut. Occasionally, if the repartee gets outrageously funny, the acronym might be LMFAO – laughing my fat ass off.
Robbie didn’t know if Kwozi69 had a fat ass, or much else about him. Kwozi69 could have been anywhere in the world, although he listed his base as St Kilda, near the beach. But there was really no way of knowing for sure.
Location can be important in deciding random sex partners. First of all, it’s always more convenient to find someone from the same city to fuck. With four million people in Melbourne the possibilities are always exciting. But then there is such a thing as “too close to home.” Nobody wants to find out they’ve been fucking the wife of the manager at work. Unless she’s an absolute fox!
The fear for some is that they’ll pop in to the 7Eleven for a loaf of bread and find that the owner of the cock they were sucking at the sex club on Saturday night actually works on their doorstep. Or, they’re sitting behind the reception desk at a public company like – well, let’s say a real estate agency – and in walks the couple encountered while dogging the previous night. Did she really fuck four men while you gave a few blow jobs? It’s glorious fun but those sexual adventures, and much of what goes on between consenting adults on these sites, is meant to be discreet. Sometimes people want a good fuck without even knowing the names of the participants. In Robbie’s experience the paranoia wasn’t necessary as he had never encountered anyone from his sexual play world while doing business. Not that it would have bothered him anyway, that was just Robbie’s easy-going approach to life.
The ping broke his revelry once again. Kwozi69 was still loitering
Kwozi69: still there bro?
The online profile name for Kwozi69 suggests he might be a New Zealand - Australian blend, like so many families who drifted to the Lucky Country in recent years looking for better pay and homes they can afford. Mum and Dad might be Kiwis but the kids had grown up as Aussies. Their dual nationality morphs into a bitter hatred of their adopted homeland when it comes to rugby tests – and the Kwozzies always, always, support the All Blacks.
Only sport they’re any good at, sniffed Robbie, apart from pinching the Melbourne Cup every couple of years. Being Melbourne-born Robbie knew little about rugby, or rugby league. Is there a difference? When God was handing out life’s treasures he blessed Victoria with Aussie rules football and there was no need to put the hand up for anything else.
Robbie turned his attention back to Kwozi69 and the inquiry about the last ménage a trois.
Robi10: Let’s see … today is Friday …. Very Good … which means it would have been Sunday for the last threesome. Slow week. lol
Lol – another online short cut for laughing out loud, not lots of love as used in more conservative online chats. Robbie wasn’t exactly laughing, but the memories of a hot Sunday getting steamy with a 49 year old couple from the bayside suburb of Brighton certainly brought a smile to his lips. Technically the lady of that partnership was beyond her best MILF years as the kids had graduated from university and taken off overseas. But she was definitely one hot lady; a wealthy husband and five days a week in the gym produces a beautifully toned body for sex play.
Kwozi69: Lucky bastard, been bloody weeks for me. Melbourne is either going through a sex drought or pussies have been locked away for Lent.
Robi10: Nah, mate. Just sick of those pathetic kiwi wieners. You lot don’t even touch the sides.
Kwozi69: Fuck you bro … anyway, what’s so good about this Friday?
Robi10: End of summer Spit Roast!
Kwozi69: Jeezus bro. You are one lucky fucker!
Robi10: Yep, and speaking of that, it’s almost feeding time. Catch you later mate. Perhaps some deaf, dumb and blind wahine will take pity on your poor bones this weekend and give you a hand job … for a hundred. cheers
Kwozi69: Hope the next pussy you meet has sharp teeth… Have fun, bro.
Robi10: Cheers Mate.
Robbie exited the chat room but didn’t log-off from the website, swinging the chair back to the main computer. He didn’t really have to dash away, he wanted to get the report completed and in the post before the weekend. No emails for this client; hard copy to a private post office box in South Melbourne. The report in production wasn’t going to make pleasant reading either. It detailed traitorous behavior and would undoubtedly result in the break-up of a partnership, maybe even prison for the guilty party. Messy stuff … and that was Robbie’s business.
Robbie Tavistock is a private investigator. At six foot two inches – or 187 cms – strong shoulders and a trim body helped Robbie look the part. A handsome visage, wavy blonde hair and friendly baby blues didn’t hurt with clients either. Humphrey Bogart was a lot shorter than Robbie, but his celluloid portrayal of Philip Marlowe once made it the coolest profession in the world. Broads, bars, guns and adventure … now that had to be a sexy profession, surely? Robbie did find it appealing, although real life never quite measured up to Hollywood’s version of the Private Dick. Robbie occasionally wondered how many of his clients knew that their Private Dick was also just as popular for his swinging dick.
One hour later Robbie reached the end of the business day. He pulled out a large envelope with the company letterhead and slipped the report and supporting documents inside. It was the result of his investigation into a car dealership south east of the city. It was a prime location, on the Nepean Highway, and should have been flourishing. There were two partners and one had contracted Robbie to discover if he was being ripped off. He was, big time. Criminally so, and Robbie had photographic and computer records provided for a fee by a talented geek to prove it. Cars were being bought and sold and not going through the books. It seemed some had undergone a bit of reassembly with help from a Footscray chop-shop that featured in a previous investigation by Robbie.
Making it even more painful for the client was the relationship with his partner – his brother-in-law. Christmas dinner was going to be interesting this year. Mind you, there could be one less to feed. Robbie wondered if they served turkey or humble pie at the new regional prison.
He wasn’t certain there would be a prosecution as the hacker would never set foot in a court to testify how he gathered the information. Robbie’s report did provide the client with enough to subpoena his partner and all the company books – and the laptop bought with company money but kept at the home of the current mistress. She was a spunk; how much of the company money went towards buying her trinkets and little black dresses?
Once the envelope was tipped into the mouth of an Australia Post bin it was out of Robbie’s hands. Job done; send an invoice and move on to the next job. Surprisingly, there was never a shortage of work for him even in times of economic crisis. Someone was always fiddling with the books, slipping money from the till or shagging the personal assistant. It was the sort of stuff that the police didn’t want to know about. So, the angry and cheated turned to Robbie and the BonRan Detective Agency.
Robbie shut down the desk top and the lap top. He switched the phone over to the answering machine and packed his shoulder bag with items he might need for the weekend. The weather forecast was good – mid 30s and sunny – and Robbie was thinking of heading down to the beach house at Lorne.
Robbie set the burglar alarm, locked the office door and trotted down the stairs on to Toorak Road. He cast an eye to his left for sign of an approaching tram. Traffic was building up and there were three trams about 500 metres back towards the city, piled up at the traffic lights. Robbie fished out his mobile and tapped in a message.
Hi sexy lady. Just leaving the office. I can pop into the shopping centre if you need any food or booze?
Thirty seconds later the traffic had moved a few metres and a buzz alerted him to the reply.
Very thoughtful darling. Just need you. Now! xxx
Robbie chuckled. “I love spit roast night.”
He pocketed the phone and eased between the cars to await the slowly approaching trams.
“What a lovely apartment you have. The location is superb ... the setting sun, the sea … and now … some hot sex?”
Grace turned back into the room, producing her best coquettish smile on cue as she closed the tinted glass door to the townhouse balcony, obscuring the view over Port Phillip Bay. She focused on Martin – lucky number three – who lounged on the leather sofa, one arm spread across the back, the other holding a glass of chilled sauvignon blanc.
Good, thought Grace. He’s tasty enough, relaxed, sociable … and he knows the ‘rules.’ She had deliberately stepped onto the balcony soon after their arrival. Part of it was natural curiosity; the water views were inviting. Mainly she wanted to see how Martin reacted to her body. Grace had chosen a summer dress, yellow, and so transparent you could almost read a newspaper through it. Against the late afternoon sun Grace knew her figure would be outlined perfectly for Martin’s appraisal. The absence of panties and bra made her an even more tempting package. After all, the reason for the meeting was pre-determined – it was purely sexual. The main participants were to be Grace and her new friend Martin; it had already been agreed via Snapchat that the Companion would only become involved when – or if – requested.
So, the intentions were clear from the start, but there was still a certain etiquette that Grace liked to follow. She had been provocative to see if Martin made a lunge for her at the first opportunity. He didn’t, which was good. It also helped confirm her approach to the back end of the evening. Martin is horny, but he likes to exude control. Getting him to submit to her will was the challenge.
Across the room Martin had been chatting with the Companion while Grace stood on the balcony. It was hard for him to pay full attention to the conversation as Grace looked so alluring. She was hot, absolutely fucking empty-your-sacs-in-five-strokes gorgeous. And she wasn’t wearing any lingerie … no tan lines either. Martin couldn’t help but see that as the breeze swirled around the dress, lifting the rear to display a stunning derriere. Now that is an ass to die for. There was a slight flaw, the small scar on her jaw, but for Martin it was inconsequential … Grace was pretty close to a perfect 10.
There is always an initial fear that such a beauty could turn out to be a cock-teaser …not the genuine cock-worshipper she professed to be. If the Companion suddenly asked for money before anything happened, Martin probably would have coughed up, begrudgingly, but certainly still paid. To have seen and not tasted this woman would have haunted him. Grace was that special.
Martin believed she was a genuine swinger; coming so readily to his home after a couple of messages and a chat on the mobile was proof enough. He was slightly curious that the initial arrangements had been via Snapchat - stunningly sexy pictures with brief text that evaporated into cyber space after a few seconds. But then they had swiftly progressed to an agreed meeting time and now, here was Grace putting herself on display, and there was no pay-for-play request. So, yes, this was definitely no professional sting.
It was taking all of Martin’s cool and experience not to do anything uncouth. Really, all he wanted was to bend Grace over the balcony railing, lift her dress and slam his cock inside. Pump her hard and fast and who cared if anyone on Marine Parade could see. Martin was single and didn’t really give a fuck if the world saw him poking a smoking-hot woman. Let them be jealous!
Martin wondered if he should quiz the Companion about his involvement in the evening of pleasure ahead. Strangely, Martin had not been able to get his name yet. Grace had signed the messages, spoken on the phone and babbled some incoherent name as they came through the door. Maybe he had a sensitive career and was just ultra cautious about protecting his identity? And what was with the large sports bag they had also brought? No problems, it was fun with Grace that really concerned him.
Martin, one eye on Grace on the balcony, considered asking the Companion if it was going to be a cuckold scene? By definition it was – Martin was going to fuck this man’s wife/partner. Mind you, it could even be his sister for all Martin knew about them.
Traditionally a cuckold is a husband humiliated by a wayward wife. His woman loves stray cock and he’s supposed to be an object of public ridicule for being sexually inadequate. But Martin knew these days the term applies to men of a more liberal outlook; husbands who are complicit in their wife’s play. Many men actually organize the play partners – known as Bulls. They assess the Bulls for suitability and ensure safety considerations. What their lady does and doesn’t like – will she fuck bareback or swallow cum for example – and where the play will take place.
At the core of this play in the swinging scene is the husband or partner as a willing participant. The husband takes his pleasure from being victimized. It’s a form of erotic fantasy and escapism that only the truly devoted can understand.
Martin knew the basics, which is all he needed. As a Bull he was the one doing the fucking, so he didn’t really worry too much about how the husbands were getting their jollies. As long as he was getting his cock away with a sexy wife or mother, he wasn’t going to question why the couple wanted to do it in the first place.
“Okay,” said Grace, slipping the sundress from her shoulders. “I’ve enjoyed the view, now I’m ready for some fun. How about you Martin? I’m wet … very wet.”
Grace then slowly wiped a finger along the junction of her labia … and held it out to Martin.