Ch. 12 The After-Effects of Poison Ivy

The exhibitions went well--so well that, when Herb went to Japan for ten days, Lianne came over and slept with us! Thank God Cynthia was away at camp.

The last week of July, the Woods threw a big party. They said they'd like us to meet three of their swinging couples. There was to be nude swimming the first afternoon. We went over and it was a looker's paradise--beautiful big breasts and handsome cocks galore. Bob, a contractor, and his wife Anita from across town were there. Actually I had known them slightly from parents' nights at the school. Ursula whispered to me, "Bob was Lianne's first serious boyfriend. He is a hunk, isn't he?"

There was a couple from Pennsylvania—both private school teachers—Becky and Reggie Pope. The wives, Anita and Becky, interestingly had been college classmates of Lianne’s. And we learned that the Popes were romantically linked to the third couple, the young man of which had been one of their students.

And one of their students who had made good! He was the novelist W.R. Faxon. Ursula had been dying to meet him as she had read his work in magazines. She said his story "The Best Man" had some really erotic sections. His lady, Angela, was a thirty-year-old professor. This pair, coming from up-state New York, was spending the week with the Woods. I was immediately attracted to the swing of Angela’s heavy breasts, while Ursula, seeing Bill, whispered again, "Oh, my goodness, Carl. His is longer than yours!"

Later in the evening there was topless disco dancing in the Woods’ spacious rec room. The girls were beautiful in their fancy full skirts. Ursula’s breasts were especially prominent. Folks remarked on their similarity to Anita’s pointy ones. Again Lianne was the creative impresario. She explained that it was “Newbies’ Choice Night” and Ursula and I as guests-of-honor could pick our late dates, from the other guests, and that we might lay claim to our choices at the conclusion of a special exhibition. We had advanced notice of this privilege; so that during the dancing we tried to disguise our thirst for the beautiful young couple from upstate New York.

After the disco ended, and before we moved to more intimate play, Lianne announced that Angela had consented to demonstrate an African mating dance for us.

Being an anthropologist, she spoke a few introductory words and invited the tribe to form a wide circle about her. Bill stood ready with the cassette. "And I have a prop," she smiled, whereupon she produced a tall, black vibrator and stood it in the middle of the floor. She removed her pumps and skirt to stand quietly before us entirely naked. She was concentrating. The tall maiden's long, pendulous breasts rose and fell with her excited breathing. The tape started: Ravel's "Bolero." She had played a joke on us, but nobody laughed. We knew how the dance would end; we knew the music. We wanted the sinuous white virgin to be well fucked. The boom of the tom-tom beat accentuated her long stride and her pelvic bumps as she moved before each man, one after the other, inviting each to witness the urgency of her sex--how beautifully her tits swayed, how enticingly the moist lips yearned for him.

As the rhythm of the beat picked up she would crawl catlike to each man, spread her pussy to him, and simulate the moves by which she would fuck him--wantonly begging.

With more frequency she touched and massaged her heavily cowled clit. Less and less conscious of her audience, she was focusing on herself, on her own needs, as she rolled to mid-floor. There, holding its base, she performed fellatio on her tall black loved one. And then she started to masturbate in earnest--on her back. With her free hand she touched the tips of her flowing breasts with the vibrating black cock, which went then to her clit and to her mouth again before the holy insertion. The audience sighed, moaned, and urged that the penetration be easy and deep.

Angela had obviously planned to coordinate her approaching climax with that of the music. However, when "Bolero" ended, she was still furiously fucking. The music was over but Angela was not. In silent awe, we thrilled at her beauty. Breathlessly in love with her, we pined for her "little death." Then we could see and hear her loss of control. At the first convulsive shudder, women started to scream. Then, weeping with joy, they rushed to embrace their sister and kiss away her tears as her passion was quieting.

My underpants were wet with pre-come. "Good God," I thought, "this swinging takes a lot out of one."

Believe it or not, Angela was just as lively and responsive an hour later, when she and I bedded down for the night in our guestroom. My beautiful wife and Bill made love in the master bedroom.

At our 11 a.m. breakfast, Ursula was bursting to tell us that she had confided to Bill our fantasy of her being serially fucked with each guy coming in her pussy--with me last. "Bill said he wants to enlist, honey."

Angela observed, "It can happen! Lianne can arrange anything!"

And fancy this: Bob set up his camcorder in our living room; and, while Lianne entertained the other girls in her bedroom, Ursula was deeply and lovingly fucked by Herb, Reggie, Bill, Bob, and me.

Afterwards she shook her head in dreamy bemusement, "What-di-ya-know, coach? Five in a row--my best night yet!"

And the video will keep our swinging summer vivid during slower seasons. Nonetheless, I know that Bill and Ursula have something going and are planning future get-togethers. Is it that they're both into literature? That's fine with me--as long as he brings Angela. After all, we're both in social studies!