Guilt Free

Sarah's guy closed in, air caressing her body with his hands, not touching, but flat palming inches from her arms, her waist, her breasts. She just smiled. Then she turned to face away from him and, still dancing, still with her arms high, backed towards him. He continued palming, but it was not air caressing any more. It was skin on pure white skin. He caressed her arms, then the sides of her rib cage, her waist and then the outer curves of her hips, between suspender belt and stocking tops. She backed closer, and his hands rose upwards and around her, past her waist again, and found her breasts, cupping them, as she ground her butt against his groin.

Meanwhile the other guy had got close up and very personal with Rosalind. Her arms were around his neck. His were around her waist, hands groping her butt. Virtually naked, the straps of her white leather outfit crossing her body, but concealing nothing, she was his for the taking. He took full advantage, his hands roaming over her. Her heels gave her height, which gave him access. One hand was reaching underneath her butt, while the other was around her back. I could guess where the fingers of that lower hand would reach.

"Was this supposed to happen?" Mike asked.

We were still sitting separately, our drinks on different tables, circular, glass topped, low level, black leather drinks tables that could hold not much more than two or three glasses each. He was still half turned away from me, speaking to the empty seat in front of him, but for my ears to hear, and I picked up on his unease. I guess he was finding watching his wife being unexpectedly caressed and fondled like that, by a total stranger, just that bit disconcerting.

"Does it matter?" I asked. "It's just a bit of fun."

My answer was part genuine, part bravado. Watching my own wife being fondled by another guy, and not the friend we had arranged to swop with, was giving me mixed feelings. I loved how she was dressed. Watching her being fondled by a total stranger was in some weird way a turn on. I loved that these guys clearly wanted the chance to fuck our wives. I knew, of course, that would not happen. But it just confirmed how lucky Mike and I were to have exclusive rights to the women we had each exchanged our vows with. Besides, if Metro-male was watching, he would see our wives dancing with these guys, and he would definitely approve.

Just how far these guys would take things, however, and just how far our wives would let things go, was a potential issue. The wife swop arrangement we had agreed to adhere to was fine, but allowing other men to grope and fondle had not been part of the game plan for the night. So I was uneasy too. I was also wondering just how Mike felt inside, watching his wife being groped the way she was. Not that i asked him. Nor did I share my own unease. Admitting my thoughts to Mike might have turned him off the whole idea, and the last thing that I wanted was for him to decide to take his wife and leave. That would spoil the evening for us all.

Only so much can happen on a dance floor. Serious play was for the play rooms. The bar, the seating area, and the dance floor were for showing off, flirting, making moves, getting close, touching, teasing, caressing, fondling, and if you decided to, agreeing to go further, when you then went through to the play space of your choice, but that was where you sucked or fucked, not in the open bar and dance floor. Our wives could have their moment with these guys.

Besides, it was not just our wives who were receiving this kind of intimate attention. Other women were being fondled just as much. Whether they knew the men, or were also being hit on by total strangers, I could not tell. Whichever, this was what women came here for, to flaunt their flesh, to be admired, and touched, by strangers, to have their husbands watch, them being fondled, or even fucked, just as the men came, whether as single guys or as the husbands, to look at, touch, penetrate and release their sperm into whichever of these women would allow it.

As if by telepathic consensus, both couples, if that was what they were, separated from one another, the women laughing with the men, but turning away from them to walk back to where Mike and I were waiting. Sarah gave us both an amused look as she led the way, drawing her dark brown hair back behind her shoulders. She really did look good. Her suspender belt and stockings had been an excellent choice. Her labia pouted as she walked, and she took her seat beside me, reaching for her drink.

Rosalind did not get away so easily. The guy she had been dancing with tried to hold her back. His fingers found the white leather waist strap where it was buckled at her back. Stopped in her tracks, she laughed and turned back to the guy. You did not have to be a lip reader to know that he was asking her to stay for one more dance. Not just another dance. Another chance, to fondle and finger her leather strapped, pure, white flesh. She laughingly gave in, and moved back close again, arms going right where they had been before, around his neck. He stroked her blonde hair, keeping his other hand on her spine, holding her to him. Having stroked her hair, he brought that hand back to her pure white butt, his fingers following the line of the diagonal strap that crossed that buttock, from her waist to right between her legs. That left Sarah's guy dancing solo, but not for long. He moved to where Rosalind and the first guy were slowly swaying from side to side, and started caressing Rosalind's back and butt.

That was when Sarah started to chat with Mike. The two sentence interchange Mike and I had had, was unofficial, off the record. No one would have noticed. We had arrived as separate couples, and as far as Metro-male or anyone else who might be watching was concerned, it had stayed like that. But at some stage someone had to be seen to break the ice, begin a get to know you between us as two couples who had never met before, and give the appearance of negotiating the partner swop that my wife had tentatively suggested as the way to enjoy the atmosphere of the swingers' club, while keeping Metro-male content that I was haring her with strangers.

"She seems to like getting attention," Sarah opened with.

Mike turned to her, checking her over as if he was just registering her properly, staying in role as someone we had just met. He shrugged.

"She's a looker," he said. "This kind of thing is bound to happen at this kind of place."

I was still watching. Rosalind was sandwiched between the guys. It was difficult to tell whose hands were where, but there were now four of those hands, caressing her, fondling, exploring. Watching was a turn on. My cock was looking forward to being where I guessed one of those guys was fingering right then.

"You don't mind?" Sarah asked.

"As long as it doesn't go too far," Mike said, totally unconcerned that Rosalind was getting the attention that she was, and leaving me wondering what he thought would be too far.

"So she's let guys do that kind of thing before?" Sarah asked.

"Sure," Mike said, bluffing his way through the mock introductory conversation. "So what about you guys? Have you been here before?"

"Just once," I said, truthfully, of course. "You see the guy in the suit, over by the bar?"

Mike looked over, registering Metro-male.

"I got some discrete advice from him, that we should really find a couple to swop with. Other guests like it if everyone participates, not just on the dance floor."

"Makes sense," Mike said.

"It's finding the right couple to swop with, if you get what I mean," I added.

There was a moment's silence just like there would have been if this had been a real first encounter between two couples who were checking each other out, and not two couples playing out their roles before the wife swop they had already agreed on.

"I think my husband's saying that he quite likes your wife," Sarah said.

Mike gave her another up and down appraisal, taking in what she was wearing, and what was on show.

"Okay," he said. "His wife looks pretty good to me," confirming his potential interest in fucking Sarah.

Sarah gave a coy smile.

"Why, thank you," she said.

"If you guys are up for it, we could be in," Mike grinned. "As long as you don't mind us being first timers too."

Only so much can happen on a dance floor. Two guys sandwiching a woman between them was pushing things a little, and they were clearly enjoying it, but all good things come to an end. The music track switched to something you really could not get away with slow dancing to, and the threesome broke apart. Rosalind excused herself, and came back to where we were sitting, having watched the show, while negotiating what was going to happen in a play room.

Like Sarah, Rosalind brushed her hair back as she came over. Her leather outfit was slightly askew. The steel ring that was the centre of the spider web, and that should have been right over her navel, was now two inches to one side. One of the crotch straps, instead of framing her slit, was holding one side of her slit open. Her wide areolas, which had been a light pink, were reddened, her barely there nipples now more prominent.

The strap lodged in her slit must have been uncomfortable to walk with, because Rosalind fingered it to the side even before she had left the dance floor. Great as she looked, she also looked a total slut. But a sexy slut. A very fuckable slut. A slut that my cock was aching for. That slut's slit was going to be very wet and ready.

She sat down next to Mike and took a long drink from her glass. Bacardi and Coke, it looked like.

"Hey, babe," Mike put his hand on Rosalind's thigh. "Enjoy yourself?"

Rosalind gave an embarrassed look at him, and then at us. She did not answer.

"We were wondering," Sarah began, staying in role, still sounding out the possible couple swop, "if you guys would like to come through to a play room with us, and make out together."

Mike interjected before Rosalind could say anything.

"I've kind of agreed to do a swop with our new friends here. Unless you girls want to spend some time with those two guys?"

Rosalind looked at me, her blue eyes sparking and mischievous.

"The guys could be fun," she said, smiling, teasing with a scenario that we all knew she was a million miles from actually doing, but that conjured up pictures in my head, of her sucking one guy's cock while the other took her from behind.

"But if you guys have made arrangements, that's cool," she added, moments later.

The swop was on. Exactly as we had planned.

***********

We found space in the second room we tried. The first was way too busy. Too many people fucking. There were a couple of spaces, but on different play-beds. That was not what we wanted. We wanted to be close to one another. The second room had a play-bed big enough for four couples to make out, but there were just two couples already using it. One couple were already enjoying missionary. The other was an interesting combination of black guy in his forties, and an Indian girl in her twenties, the guy lying on his back, and the girl sucking on his cock. For whatever reason, they were at one end of the play bed, and the missionary couple at the other end, leaving the middle free, enough space for two more couples, right between them.

I had been holding Sarah's hand as we walked through, Mike holding Rosalind's. It was time to swop. We all four let go hands. I guess it was inevitable that those all too well known words came to mind.

"I promise to love and comfort you, honour and keep you, and forsaking all others, I will be yours alone as long as we both shall live."

There are so many ways to interpret those words. Some chose to interpret sex outside of marriage as not being a real breach of the vow, as long as you stay with your husband or your wife, and do not allow the sex to impact on your love and commitment to your spouse. Others see even just a kiss at a party to be wrong. In between, you take your choice and live with it, in this life, and for ever after.

The way I saw it, our wives dancing naked with those guys was bordering the edges, allowing them to fondle them even more so. Wife swopping was definitely on the wrong side of temptation. It was sinful. We had been lucky to find a couple who felt the same, friends we had made from our oldest's school's parent association, while she had still been at that school. A conversation between our respective wives a few weeks back had gone way further than any conversation they had ever had before. They were friends who we could trust, who liked the fun of sex, and who would enjoy a club like this, but knew how far they were willing to go, and would go no further.

Rosalind put her arms around my neck, at exactly the some moment Sarah did the same with Mike. Then all of us were kissing, my savouring Rosalind's lips, Mike and Sarah intertwined. She tasted so amazing. Almost as if I had never kissed before. I wanted her so much more than I had ever wanted my wife in our bedroom. The whole scene, being in the club, the exhibitionist costumes my wife and Mike's had worn, what I had just witnessed with those guys, Mike and Sarah right beside us, all of us about to enjoy sex side by side, had raised desire to a level I had never known before.

Rosalind broke off the kiss to whisper in my ear.

"One of those guys was fingering my slit," she said. "I'd love for you to lick me there before we fuck."

My cock reacted. It was already hard, but somehow it got harder.

"I just felt you twitch," she added.

"Slut!" I said, jokingly, of course.

"Lick me out," she asked. She was not joking.

She let go of my neck and backed onto the play bed, sitting, then lying back, legs parted, her pure white flesh criss-crossed by even whiter leather, breasts nicely full and proud, areolas still reddened from the attention they had enjoyed, her blonde hair flared out, her hairless slit teasingly, every so slightly open.

Her slit tasted even better than her mouth. Something about the leather straps running on either side of it made licking her slit so much sexier. I like to lick not just within, but at the sides, and my tongue touched the abrasive leather. Her slit was not just bare, but framed, constrained, enslaved.

I sensed movement beside us and turned my head. Sarah was getting on all fours. Mike was positioning himself behind her. His cock was hard, protruding rigid from his open trouser fly. I watched him guide it into her, incredulous that I was seeing Mike fuck Sarah, after all those fun but innocent and proper dinner parties in one another's homes.

I went back to licking, only to see a hand caressing one of Rosalind's breasts. The guy beside us. He was close enough that it was her further breast that he was fondling, his forearm reaching across her rib cage and resting on her nearer breast, . His Indian partner was still sucking on his cock, but he had clearly been tempted by Rosalind's already reddened areola. He had palmed it, his dark skin contrasting with Rosalind's pure white complexion.

You can lick cunt, lap at clit, and still watch someone's hand play with a breast, softly kneading the flesh, teasing the central hardness of the areola, where babes had suckled. Rosalind's nipples may not stand so proud, but the guy still could use a finger and a thumb, and hold the nub that he had been caressing, could pull it upwards, could draw her breast into a cone of flesh, the wide areola like the strawberry topping on ice cream, lickable, suckable, but at this moment being fingered, teased, twisted, squeezed, gently tormented.

Rosalind's whole body squirmed, whether from my tongue, or the guy's fondling and playing at her breast, but her hand went to his, white on black, covering it, perhaps signalling that something had been just that bit too intense, but still keeping it at her breast to encourage him to play some more. I licked her cunt, and sensed another shudder. Then she whimpered, just as Sarah gave out an almost simultaneous gasp.

I took another glance to the side. Mike was kneeling behind Sarah's legs, holding her by her waist, right at her pelvic girdle, his hand covering her suspender belt. She was no longer on all fours. Her arms had given up. Her back sloped down. Her head was turned away from my line of vision, dark hair spread out on the black, vinyl mattress. Interestingly, Rosalind was doing to Sarah what the guy beside us was doing to Rosalind's own breast. She had reached beneath Sarah, maybe before Sarah's arms had given way, and Sarah's breast was now pressed into Rosalind's palm. Meanwhile, ignoring that she was no longer properly on all fours for him, Mike was fucking Sarah steadily, clearly revelling in her upturned butt.

I have always taken pride in my ability to bring my wife to orgasm with just my tongue. I went back to work on Rosalind, if giving oral pleasure can be described as work. I focussed on her clit, and got the reward I wanted. She squirmed and moaned and whimpered. I lapped all around the small nub of delightfully sensitive nerve endings, grazing it as my tongue edged close. This time it was Rosalind who gave out a gasp. Our neighbour was still playing with her breast, Rosalind's hand still encouraging his by resting over it. Her other hand moved from under Sarah's breast to cup the back of my head, as if I needed any encouragement to carry on. I never give up on an oral mission.

She came so beautifully. She writhed and shuddered and cried out and moaned and groaned, and both hands scrabbled at my head, trying to make me pause because the intensity was now too much, and I continued licking, right at her clit, over and over, keeping my head exactly where it was, while I watched the guy's hand rolling her nipple stub between his finger and his thumb. Whichever was too intense, my licking directly on her clit, or the guy's playing with her nipple, or maybe both, Rosalind was now heaving and twisting and trying to shift her pelvis to the side, while I held it with both hands, pressing it firmly against the mattress, unmoving, licking and lapping and knowing that she could not take that level of intensity for long, but imposing it on her regardless. Then, finally, I raised my head, and Rosalind let out a long, low moan in sheer relief.

I waited. While I waited, I let go of Rosalind's pelvis. I reached for my fly, undoing the buttons one by one. My cock was solid, but I eased it out. Then I moved up the mattress. I raised one of Rosalind's legs, my hand under her thigh, and she did not resist, but let me raise it all the way and tuck the leg beneath me, calf at my shoulder, foot towards the sky. Leaning to that side, I did the same with Rosalind's other leg, so that she was folded beneath my body weight, cunt raised, primed for penetration, my cock resting on her lower belly, prepared for action.

I sensed another kind of movement. The girl was moving, the Indian girl with her jet black hair and slender, brown arms and legs, who had been overdressed if anything, in one of those little black dress numbers that skim the thigh inches below the place where thighs inevitably meet. No longer sucking the black guy's cock, she was walking on her knees, moving up his body, her feet and shins on either side of him, until her satin covered butt was right above his awaiting, thick and rigid cock. Then she rose a little, angled his cock underneath the satin of her dress, and lowered herself again, all the way to rest upon his upper thighs. Not that I could see, but I was pretty sure I knew exactly where the black guy's cock had gone.

Squatting on him like that, she reached behind her neck. She undid a tie. Behind her back, she slid down a zip. The dress dropped from her breasts to bunch around her waist. Neat, barely there breasts, so different from Rosalind's full, proud, white, pink topped breasts, one of which the Indian girl's guy was still fondling. The brown of her breast flesh continued uninterrupted to her Indian black, olive sized, thick stubs of nipples. Breasts no fuller than a saucer, no visible areolas, but nipple stubs to die for, to squeeze, to tease, to twist and turn, to mouth and suck and chew on, softly, but hard enough to punish her for having such delectable dark nubs of flesh.