Guilt Free

"I'm sorry to intrude, sir, but may I have a quiet word?"

A quiet word can put a damper on what had been a totally incredible evening, but the guy was smooth. Not just the way he spoke, but everything about him. He was the same guy who had welcomed us to the club, in his satin smooth black suit, his smooth, white shirt, and smooth, silk striped, red and black, knotted tie, with his black hair immaculately smoothed back from his high forehead, his eyebrows and moustaches trimmed, his cheeks lightly made up so smoothly, and what had to be some kind of clear lip gloss smoothed across his lips. Either he was gay, or smooth metro-male.

From the way he had appraised my wife when she had checked in her coat, my guess was hetero metro. Her dress, that time around, had been an inexpensive stretch tube, in red, that left her arms and shoulders bare, and skimmed the under curves of her buttocks and her otherwise naked slit. Given the chance, he would have fucked her, in a most considerate, unselfish way. Since he was one of the club's permanent staff, there was no chance that that would happen, but she would be good for business, the kind of woman most male guests would want to fuck.

Not that we swing. Even happily married, respectable couples like ourselves can enjoy a bit of sexual daring, but we are not swingers. That was our first time ever in a swingers club. It was a mutual dare, to celebrate our twentieth anniversary by actually going to a club, checking out the atmosphere, doing a bit of dancing, exploring the play rooms, just to look, not to participate, waiting until we got home to enjoy the privacy of our bedroom.

My wife's dress was part of the dare. Having found the club online, we had checked out the dress code. Dare to bare, lingerie, leather, things like that. The dress she chose, first time around, was that red, stretch fabric, with circular cut outs, like mesh stockings but the holes were round, not diamond shaped. Thse holes stretched wide. Two inches wide. Wide enough for entire areoles to be left bare. Wide enough for guys she danced with, to caress them, skin on skin, and make them respond and redden to their touch.

Not that the men stopped there. A single man pays twice as much as a couple for their entrance fee, and they were there to play. I found myself watching my wife being openly groped on the dance floor. I like to dance for only so long, and had left her to do her thing so unsurprisingly, I guess, someone else moved in. After some solo dancing facing her, a slower track gave him the excuse to go in close. She let him hold her, hands on her butt. As they danced slow together, the guy fingered at her dress, easing the hem gradually upwards, exposing the perfect white globes of her buttocks, stopping only when the hem was rucked around her waist, then fondling the flesh he had just bared.

It was quite a turn on watching, but also an unnerving warning. This was the first guy to touch my wife since we were married. She had danced with other men at parties. Of course she had. But not with her dress rucked up like that, not with her butt exposed, and not with the man groping her like that, or holding her quite so close to his groin. My guess was that he would have had a hard on, and that the hardness would have been pressed against my wife. Given the type of club we had dared ourselves to come to, I had no doubt what the guy would like to do to her. Maybe I should not have left her on the dance floor on her own.

Meanwhile, I was enjoying looking at women wearing even less than a red tube dress. Lingerie meant corsets, suspender belts and stockings, not bras or thongs. Whether what was worn was soft fabric or unyielding leather, I was taking in a never ceasing parade of naked breasts, bare butts and even exposed slits, most of them devoid of hair. I know that as a churchgoer I should not covet my neighbour's wife, but these people did not live beside us, so they were not our neighbours, and I was not planning to fuck any of these women. I did not want them for myself, as 'covet' means. When the time comes, and I am asked questions at the pearly gates, I plan to say that I was only looking. But I admit to being at least as horny as the average guy, and I was entranced by everything I saw.

We were only looking in the play rooms too. For a couple who had never made love outside of our bedroom, except once, on our honeymoon by a quiet lake in Italy, those rooms were something else. They were mind-blowing. I confess to having watched some porn online, but this was real, live, right before your eyes, going all the way, cock sucking, pussy licking, missionary, doggy, two on one, you name it, it was happening.

Our first tour around those play rooms, by now something after mid-night, we just took it all in. Hand in hand for reassurance, we made our way through three playrooms and a dungeon. If seeing people making out together in the playrooms was just staggering, then what was happening in the dungeon was incredible. Not that it was in a basement. It was just through a black painted double doorway on the same level as the rest of the club, dimly lit, decorated in black and red, imitation beams and panelling, brass chandeliers and wall lights, black tiled floor.

The stand-out scenes were, first, one woman strapped to a massive wooden cross, having her butt flayed by her guy, using some kind of multi-strand, short whip or crop. Nothing seriously sadistic, but enough to turn her butt a delicate shade of pink, the strand of the crop marking her with overlapping lines. In between strokes, he was playing with her nipples, and fingering between her parted legs. It was way more than we had expected to see first hand. Then, second, a blindfolded brunette had been strapped on her back into a leather swing, her ankles secured as high as her parted legs could stretch. A guy was fucking her. Another was at her head, playing with her nipples. Four other men were watching. It was only when the first guy finished, spurting his come inside her, and another took his place, that we realised that the other men were not just watching, but were in some kind of queue. Whether the queue stopped with those four guys, or was more open ended, we did not wait to see. Back in the bar, we talked about what we had just witnessed. Both of us had been fascinated, and stunned.

"Would you ever want me to do that,...?"

"No, not in a million years. Would you want to,... I mean, like with the guy you danced with?"

"With a stranger? No! I never want it to be anyone but you!"

"The same. I mean seeing all this,... it's exciting,... but you're all I need."

"If you want,... we could,... I mean,... it might be nice to do it here,... in one of the rooms,...?"

She was telling me that she wanted to, but the inflection in her voice softened what was an enquiring suggestion, making it a question too, the decision left to me.

We found a space on a vinyl mattressed multi-person bed in one of the three play rooms. We were far from ready for the dungeon. The play rooms were daring enough for both of us that time around. The ease with which my wife removed her dress was just incredible, the way she just unzipped my fly, drew out my cock, squatted down and started sucking, so, so, wonderful. Not that we are the kind of lights out, missionary position only, couple who wear body concealing pyjamas at all times. We sleep naked. We know how to enjoy our God-given bodies. My wife sucks my cock, I lick her out. We know how to fuck, and not just missionary.

Fucking with other people there is something else again. Especially when the touching started. Not me. No one reached out to touch my body. My wife. Her calf stroked. Her thigh caressed. Once we had switched around, and she was lying on the vinyl, and I was probing her slit with my tongue, a woman leaned sideways and started sucking on her breast, while playing finger flick with the nipple of her other breast. Even when I moved up, slid my cock inside my wife, and started making love to her, she did not entirely back away. Her guy by then was giving her oral right beside us, but she still used one hand to caress my wife's breast.

Eventually I came. I just exploded. I could take no more. All my senses had reached overload. Not just the sensory receptors of my cock head, right off the dial as I fucked the woman that I loved. or the taste of her cunt still on my tongue,. What reallt got to me was the smell of sex pervading the entire play room, the sound of my wife groaning as she orgasmed, other people moaning, one woman somewhere over there, squealing in high pitched ecstasy, and visually, so much bare flesh, and my wife's breasts being reached for and groped, the same women on our left, a guy on our right now getting in on the act, my wife's body juddering and convulsing in response.

Of course, I had seen Metro-male doing his rounds, checking nothing untoward was happening, talking softly with bar staff and with guests, even walking through the play room we had used. Smooth, discrete, unobtrusive in spite of the suit and tie. So what he said, once he had guided me to one side of the entrance-way as we were about to take our leave, had the legitimacy of someone who knew everything that went on in the club, and it cast a shadow on what had been an otherwise unforgettably amazing night.

"I do hope that you and your lady have enjoyed your evening, sir," he started. "May I just offer a suggestion for your next visit, that you engage more fully with other guests. We like to cater solely for the life-style, and discourage exclusivity. I do hope you understand."

His voice was smooth. He had gone to one of the better private schools. His tone was almost apologetic, but the message conveyed was clear. If we wanted to come back, I needed to share my wife, not just on the dance floor, but allow some, at least, maye just one, or if we wanted, more than one of the other guests, to fuck her. Exchange partners with just one other couple, or watch her with a single guy. Metro-male would then be satisfied.

If that 'quiet word' had put a damper on the evening, it did not dispel the memories. We had enjoyed ourselves. We had not planned to actually make love while we were there, but we had done it, and we were both amazed at our own daring. Before I had a chance to tell her about Metro-male's advice, my wife was saying that maybe we should return, use the club to spice up our sex-lives, not actually swing, but do what we had done that night, once every so often, when we felt the mood. No one had to know. Our children had all left home, or were at university in term time, so no one would know what time we would stay out to. It was nothing more than innocent fun. Maybe once a month, or so.

That was when I told her what Metro-male had said. My wife went quiet. She was thinking. We left the conversation incomplete, but she clearly kept on thinking. We both did. It took the best part of a month for her to come up with her solution. To find a couple like ourselves, and go with them. Then she starting thinking just who we might invite to join us, to enjoy an evening at the club, without another quiet word from Metro-male.

************

Sarah had gone for the lingerie option. Black suspender belt. Sheer black stockings. Black heels. Nothing else. The black complemented her mane of dark brown hair, and contrasted nicely with her complexion. Dark brown hair, but milk white skin. Every inch of her, pure white. Except her lips, of course. And her nipples. And her areolas. Not that her areolas are that large. Maybe just wider than her nipple stubs. Anyway, those are all a reddish shade of pink, except she had used brilliant red gloss on her lips, so that they pouted call-girl sex. No lip gloss on her nether lips. They just pout. None on her nipples either. They did not pout, but they would have if they could. Instead they just stood seriously proud.

There was no sign of recognition from Metro-male as we went through from the entrance hall-way into the club interior, but he seemed to like what he saw. His eyes lingered longer than they should. It felt good. I hoped that Sarah felt as good as I did, walking through with her looking like a million dollars. It was just a pity that it would be Mike who got to fuck her.

We picked up some drinks at the bar and found some seats on a leather bench while we waited for Mike and Rosalind to arrive. There was plenty of eye candy around for me to enjoy, sitting close to us, on the dance floor, and just wandering around, arm in arm or hand in hand with their respective guys. There were plenty of single guys as well, looking out for prospects, some of them eyeing Sarah. Had i been there on my own, I would have eyed her too.

They came in ten minutes after we had sat down, passing us to reach the bar. No hint that we all knew each other. They just walked straight on by, right in front of us, so that I got a close up look at Rosalind. She was in white leather. Her mid-calf leather boots were pure white leather, with silver studs serving as decorative trim. Apart from the boots, she was dressed in nothing but inch-wide, white, leather straps, with silver buckles where the straps were fastened tight, and wide silver rings where they were joined to one another, and more silver studs for decorative effect. There were straps that formed triangles, framing her breasts. There were straps that crossed her concave stomach, with one of the rings strategically located at her navel acting as the centre of a six pointed spider web of white leather. There were straps that ran between her legs, descending on either side of her smooth, hairless slit and pulled so tight her slit was slightly open, pink within. This was the slit that I would get to fuck.

Like ourselves, they stopped at the bar to get themselves some drinks. No sign of acknowledgement. Nothing to indicate that they already knew us. Not even when they sat down right beside us. Just Mike checking if the seats were taken. Rosalind deliberately sitting with her back to me. More straps, one crossing her back just below her shoulder blades, the buckle at her spine, another at her waist, another buckle, and two straps rising from beneath her butt, the ones that were pulling on her slit, but were now crossing her pure white globes of buttock flesh diagonally, and were fastened to the waist strap, not at the centre, but on either side. Other than those white leather straps, and the cowboy style boots, the woman I would fuck was naked.

"Shall we dance for a bit?" I asked.

Sarah grinned. She seemed very much at ease.

"Sure," she said.

We both got up. Still no eye contact with Mike or Rosalind. We moved to the dance floor, nicely busy but not crowded. We each did our thing, Sarah doing writhing moves, while I was less relaxed, more just stepping side to side, my arms doing not much more than hanging loose. But it got me right up close to her. I was already feeling nicely aroused, in anticipation at what would happen later, in a play-room. When Mike and I would swop. My brilliant wife had got it all worked out. Metro-male could stuff his smooth advice tonight.

The way Sarah had shaved her pubic hair was seriously sexy. Her cunt was totally exposed. Only a landing strip of short black curls was left. Where it was shaved, a slight shadow darkened her pure white skin, inevitable with her hair colouring, but the landing strip worked with the black of her suspender belt and stocking tops to underscore her nakedness. Her protruding labia kept my attention there as well, of course. Mike's cock would enjoy parting those succulent nether lips.

It seemed to be a tape, or maybe a prepared play list on a laptop somewhere behind the bar. No sign of a disc jockey. No one seemed to care. It was all music you could move to. Every so often, the play list went to something slow. Which meant that we got close. Both my arms around her. My hands on her butt, soft flesh, malleable, nice to hold. No need to ease a dress up around her waist. The suspender belt and stockings left her buttocks bare, and I will admit I was not just holding. Groping would have been the word. It felt good as well, to feel my cock harden with the gentle pressure of her body pressed against mine.

She looked up at me, a quizzical look.

"So that is what Rosalind is going to enjoy?" she said, smiling. "It's just gone hard."

"Your fault," I told her.

"Will you guys find a place right next to us, to fuck, I mean?"

"Now that would be a real turn on," I said.

"It could be fun!" she said. "I want to watch you fuck Rosalind. You get to watch Mike fuck me."

We were still doing a slow, swaying, turn around gradually, kind of a dance thing, in our own few square feet of dance floor. I let go of Sarah's butt, moving one hand higher, more respectably palm flat against her lower back, but brought the other hand in front, and cupped her breast. The nipple stub was firm against my palm, the breast tissue itself soft and giving.

"You know that Mike and Rosalind are watching us?" Sarah said.

"And?" I asked. "You mean I should not caress my wife in public?"

She laughed.

"I thought the idea was to swop partners."

"It is," I said. "Don't worry."

"Anyway, Rosalind's getting to her feet," Sarah said. "Maybe you should let me dance solo now?"

Our pre-arranged game plan was for Sarah and Rosalind each to dance without Mike or I, and appear to get friendly with each other on the dance floor. The couple swop would look like they arranged it. I used the time it took for Rosalind to walk to the dance floor, to enjoy another feel of Sarah's naked butt. Then I kissed her, not on the mouth, but on her cheek so as not to smudge her call-girl lip gloss, and I went back to my seat.

Mike still did not acknowledge me. Our wives stayed a little distance from each other. I liked that although Sarah was brunette while Rosalind was blonde, they both had pure white complexions that took up the colours of the rotating disco lights that toured the dance floor. Their heights, and frames, were similar, though Rosalind's breasts were fuller, her hips a little wider.

The track had changed, and suited solo dancing. They each did their thing. Sarah's style was hands high above her head, shimmying on the dance floor. Rosalind's hands stayed low, hands flat, parallel to the floor, almost Egyptian in style, the white strap outfit suggestive of slavery, her breasts emphasised by the triangular straps restraining them, even her slit enslaved by the straps on either side. No longer a suburban wife, she was a concubine, existing only for her master's pleasure. I liked that I would fuck her later, in a play room, Mike and Sarah watching, other people too. The women, however, played it cool, taking their time, not yet dancing face to face, not yet saying anything to one another.

Mike and I were both watching our wives dancing as two guys made their move. This was not planned for, but shit, as they say, can happen. The guys seemed to know each other. Maybe they had been checking out our wives, had noticed that we were allowing them to flaunt their bodies without us, and had taken this as a signal that they might be available. Whatever their thinking, the guys managed to dance their way between them, preventing Sarah and Rosalind from following the script we had worked out, pretending to meet each other for the first time while dancing.

Maybe we should have game planned this eventuality, but, in fairness, Sarah and Rosalind did exactly what any women would have done. They played their roles. This was a swingers' club. Men made moves. On the dance floor, anyone could play with anyone. They each played the game, connected with the guy in front of them, made eye contact, gave out unspoken come-ons through their body language, mirroring their guy's dancing style.