Just a Swingin' Pt. 02

Cupidity's check-in line was a study in diversity - a serpentine conglomeration of various backgrounds, shapes and sizes, the old and the young - all of them restless and anxious to get their swing on. An inescapable erotic aura was interweaving its way down the line, infecting people with a Molly-like mood, inviting sensory interactions between them, and making it difficult to discern who went with whom.

"Looks like we're not in Kansas anymore," quipped Krystal.

Blake coerced a grin from his pursed lips. He'd been on high alert ever since they'd boarded the shuttle from the Cancun airport to the resort, unable to enjoy the camaraderie that had naturally formed between the six couples in the Mercedes minibus. Sure, they'd only exchanged phone numbers, but very soon, it could be bodily fluids.

Krystal waved her hand in front of Blake's blank stare.

"Hello!" she said, knocking on the crown of his head, "Anyone in there?"

"It's very nice," he said, flatly, as he surveyed the white marble landscape, not to acclimate himself to his new environment, but rather to identify anyone who might recognize him. His panoramic scan landed at the lobby bar where his deliberate scrutiny was disarmed by a friendly face - an elfish redhead whose gentle beckon appeared to be meant for him. He turned to look behind him for a sign he was mistaken, before smiling shyly in her direction.

"For God's sake," said Krystal, elbowing her antsy companion, "Relax. Put your arm around me. Pretend you're having fun."

Blake rested his sweaty palm on the small of Krystal's warm back, feeling the electricity of her quiet excitement race up his arm through the small diamond-shaped cutout in her sundress. When the receptionist waved them forward, he guided her to the front desk, where she proudly announced:

"Blake and Krystal Carrington."

And just a few minutes later, they were on their way to their room. As for the Dynasty reference, it went unnoticed, just as she suspected it would.

******

"I like it," said Krystal, lifting her oversized suitcase onto the luggage rack with little effort.

Blake nodded in agreement, taking in the interesting mix of stark white walls, Mexican-inspired tile floors, and full-bodied mahogany furnishings as he made his way past the two queen beds and onto the small balcony overlooking the expansive pool area. The pool proper was punctuated with hot tubs, and ledged and lined with semi-submersible furniture - clearly designed with more than just sunbathing in mind. Currently, the pool was empty, but Blake knew that soon it would become the epicenter of the extreme flirting that would escalate into the night on the disco's dancefloor, and peak in the wee hours in an X-rated romper room.

"What a view," said Krystal, stepping onto the balcony, "We've got a front row seat!"

She pointed to a series of cabana beds just beyond the pool - one of them occupied by a naked chain of girl-on-girl-on-girl. Blake recognized the pale short-haired pixie he'd acknowledged during check-in. She was sitting cross-legged exploring the elevated backside of a black beauty, who in turn, was interrogating a chubby brunette with a battery-operated boyfriend. A young man sat on the edge of a bed adjacent, his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his steepled fingers, as he studied the steamy soul train with intense focus.

"I think that man goes with the brunette," said Blake.

And shortly thereafter:

"Baby, BABY!" she cried, "I'm going to CUM!" She swept her arm overhead, and he took her hand and squeezed it. And this being the first sighting of such unrestricted debauchery, Blake flushed hot, but only because Krystal was enjoying it with him.

"WOWSA! And good call on the partner," said Krystal, leaning on the railing and turning to face him, "Is that the kind of thing that would get you off, Blake? Watching Barb get her graybeard bisected by a woman?"

She snorted.

"I'd get off if Barb showed any erotic inclination whatsoever," Blake said, squatting slightly to improve his field of vision, "I... um... think he's going to ejaculate on her," he added.

And as if he'd been directed to do so, the young man rose to his feet, positioned himself over the brunette, and unloaded on her face and neck - his powerful howl wafting across the water on the tropical breeze.

"HO-LEE-CRAP! And right again!" Krystal said, slapping Blake's back, "How do you know these things? Must be all that porn you watch behind your office door. Am I right or am I right?"

Blake bent to pick up a stray pebble, dodging Krystal's inquiring eyes.

"I don't watch porn," he said, quietly.

"Like hell you don't," she snickered, waving him into the room, "Come on. Let's get down there before it gets busy; it'll make the transition easier."

"Transition to what?" Blake asked.

"To naked you numskull," she chuckled.

"What's the rush? We don't have to do everything today. I'm happy to just stay here. Like you said, we've got a front row seat."

"Stay here? Are you out of your frickin' mind?" Krystal put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed. "Look, the pool's not clothing optional. We'll have to strip down if we want to hang out there, which of course we DO! (poke) Now let's get this over with."

Krystal lifted the husk of flaxen hair from her shoulders.

"Unzip me."

And a rush of adrenaline filled Blake ear to ear, as his brain processed the immediacy of the impending nudity.

"So... we're about to see each other naked," he said, fumbling with the narrow plastic zipper.

"Yes Blake; obviously that was inevitable," she said, slipping the straps of her sundress over her quadradical shoulders.

"Your turn," she said, matter of fact, as the sundress settled to the floor.

Blake swallowed hard at the sight of Krystal's dandelion demi-bra, heavily weighted by her decoy double-Ds. His gaze drifted down her 5-foot 10-inch frame to her scant panties, then rose again to meet her testy expression.

"I said, IT'S YOUR TURN BLAKE!"

"Right," he said, gripping the hem of his navy golf shirt and pulling it over his head. Then he stood there as if he needed additional instruction, prompting Krystal to roll her right hand in his direction to urge him on. He responded in the affirmative, removing his khaki pants, but taking an inordinate amount of time to do so, then slowly folding his clothes neatly on the bed and placing them just so in the second drawer of the dresser. Krystal knew he was stalling, but she was relishing his unease and enjoying the reveal. She'd seen him often at the Cranbury Country Club pool and had always admired his physique - so different than her husband's. Ken had been quite fit until his late 40's, then he just gave up the fight.

"I'll go first," Krystal said, turning her back and exposing her tawny tail-end. Blake gulped again, but it was no use, he couldn't clear the lump in his throat.

"You wear a thong," he said, giggling nervously, "Barb wears granny panties."

Krystal bent over to afford Blake an improved view of the slender strip of fabric chinking her great divide. She knew she was tickling the margin of her mandate not to engage him in this way, but she couldn't help herself. The older she got, the more addicted to admiration she became, and Blake was so free with it and so damn safe. She eased the thong over her slim hips and shimmied it down her legs, pausing there with the undies around her ankles, waiting for more of his affirmation, and then it came - a hitch in his breath, a "Jesus Krystal," and a sigh. She unfastened her bra and flung it behind her; it skimmed his head on its way to the floor, and when she spun to face him, her Ay Carumbas careened their way around to meet his bewitched expression.

Krystal stilled, basking in Blake's silent applause as he ogled her breasts - so skillfully sculpted with just a soucent of sag to suggest an organic quality, her blush nipples pointing slightly skyward. Yes... they were fake... but they were spectacular. But having unintentionally pawed one of them in her car a few weeks previous, he was expecting as much. The real surprise rested at the apex of her long lithe legs - an immaculately manicured high density hedge.

"It's so thick... and so... so blonde!" he stammered.

Krystal smoothed her hand down her tanned tummy.

"When I color my hair," she said, knotting her nails in her underbrush, "I buy a double batch so I have a snatch to match."

She winked, and Blake managed to join her in chuckle.

"Now stop staring and take your effin boxers off!" she barked.

"OK, here we go," he said, rubbing his palms together in feigned enthusiasm.

And what followed was the most convoluted pantie peel Krystal had ever witnessed, as Blake endeavored to extricate himself from his underwear one-handed, while the other battled to shield his shape shifter.

"Oh COME on!" she said, hands on hips.

And so he relented, his arms dropping to his sides, his bell rope unfurling to mid-thigh.

THWACK!

"Holy SHIT!" said Krystal, her eyes round as quarters.

He wasn't completely surprised; he'd heard the same on more than one occasion after having exposed himself online. Nonetheless he blushed, because this time, the sentiment had come from her.

"I don't know why you bothered getting a frickin' accounting degree," she said, reaching into her suitcase, "Considering your... ahem... credentials, you could have made a lot more money as a gigolo or a porn star."

"I have to be careful with Barb," he said, finding his swim trunks, "She's really tiny, and as I previously indicated, she doesn't have much of a libido."

"Well, suit up my friend," said Krystal, tying a long silk sari around her neck, "because you're about to meet a whole lot of women who do, and based on what you just showed me, I have a feeling you're going to be very very popular here at Cupidity."

******

"Grab some towels and find us a good spot," said Krystal, "I'm going to get a beer at the tiki bar." And off she went, abandoning him at a mosaic wall of blue and green tiles lined with showers and cubbies and beach towels.

"Get me one too!" he yelled, suddenly feeling the need, but then thought better of it and added, "Non-alcoholic!"

After having spotted two chaises tucked under a tree near the shallow end, Blake draped the towels over them, and then disrobed - this time at breakneck speed, rushing to arrange himself face down facing the pool so he could scrutinize his surroundings which, as luck would have it, were still sparsely populated. Then he heard her unmistakable and irresistible laugh and turned his head towards the sound. Krystal had made a friend - a man about their age. He was chatting her up as he strode beside her, his pecker wildly waving east to west.

"Mine's bigger," Blake murmured to himself, his eyes fixed on his faux bride as the breeze blew her sari open, exposing the underside of her full breasts and that beautiful blonde bush.

"This is Bruce," said Krystal, gesturing to him, "Bruce, this is my husband, Blake."

Bruce stretched his arm out, and Blake managed to shake his hand and take the Lagunitas IPnA from Krystal, without rising from his prone position.

"Bruce is a retired project engineer from Kentucky," she said, twisting her hair up and securing it in a French twist with a toothed barrette. Then she untied the sari and held it high over her head where it flapped proudly in the wind like the flag of a newly inaugurated country.

"Beautiful," Bruce groaned under his breath as he looked on.

"Where's your wife?" asked Blake, struggling with some unwanted envy.

"She's in the room - she's not feeling well," Bruce responded, his lidded eyes still on Krystal as she bent over to place the sari in her beach bag, then arrange herself on the chaise, "So what brings you two here?"

"We're new to the life-"

"Full swap," blurted Krystal, cutting Blake off.

"Great! Awesome!" said Bruce, "That whole soft swap thing is a waste of your time and money. I mean, if you're going to get wet, might as well jump into the deep end, right?"

"Right!" Krystal said, two thumbs up.

What the hell are they talking about? Blake wondered, as Bruce took a seat at the end of Krystal's chair and turned his attention to him.

"And hey man, I don't want to be presumptuous, but in the event we get some playtime going, I'm straight. I don't want to feel any man's dick, unless it's in your wife's mouth at the same time as mine. Capice?"

There was a moment of awkward silence, then Bruce burst out laughing and slapped Blake's shoulder, forcing his chest into the chaise.

"Hope to see YOU on the dancefloor tonight," he said, shooting at Krystal with his gun fingers, and he was gone.

Blake raised up on an elbow and twisted to look at her. She was smoothing sunscreen on her face and neck.

"Just exactly what is full swap?" he asked.

"It's the opposite of soft swap."

"OK then, just exactly what is SOFT swap?"

"Flirting, kissing, touching, fingering, potentially oral - everything up to but not including-"

"Intercourse," said Blake.

Krystal nodded.

"Most couples start with soft swap - some never do full," she said, squirting sunscreen onto her upper chest and rubbing it into her arms and shoulders, and then all over those Areola Alps, her nipples instinctively answering her touch with a pronounced puckering.

GodDAMN she's hot, Blake thought, turning his head away to help fight the fat Johnson that was about to bust through the jail wall of vinyl slats beneath his hips.

"Hey I thought you knew all this," she said, placing the sunscreen in his hand, "Do my back, will ya?"

"Ummmm... sure," he said, sitting up just in time to see her flip on her tummy, her semi-toned tushie so inviting, as it wiggled its way to stillness.

Blake drizzled the cream in a large figure 8 over Krystal's back, then striped her thigh-to-ankles with it. He stood and moved one leg to the other side of the chaise, acutely aware his dangling participle was on a collision course with her crack.

"Lower," she said, when she realized his reluctance to venture beyond her shoulder blades, and Blake complied, working his way slowly down her back, bypassing her ass to knead her upper thighs. Ten seconds into it, she spread her legs just slightly, and his thumbs unwittingly skidded north to just south of her entrance, prompting the blood in his body to make haste to his member. He stifled a moan as it lengthened and stiffened.

"Get my butt too," teased Krystal, abruptly raising her rear, prompting Blake to step back fast to ward off a wedging of his crown in her White Cliffs of Drove-her.

"Mmmmmm, that feels good," she purred, as his manicured white-collar clutches creamed her rosy derriere, and nervous perspiration sailed down the bridge of his nose and dripped onto her tailbone.

"That should do it," he said, re-assuming his face down position on the chaise and rescuing himself from certain swooning.

******

"PSSSST," said Krystal, jarring Blake from his poolside slumber. He wiped the slobber trickling down his chin, then raised his gaze.

"Oh my God!" he gasped, scrambling to seated, "Are... are...they?"

"Don't be so frickin' obvious," she whispered, pressing on his chest, "Sit back - relax."

But Blake remained perched on the edge of his seat, mesmerized by the scene taking place just 20 feet in front him. And was he imagining it? or was the man pounding the woman's punani in the shallow water signaling him to join in the fun? Clearly, Blake was no stranger to triple-eXhibition, but the Internet, which had connected him to it, ironically had also protected him from it. He wasn't prepared to participate in a live pornographic performance - especially not in public and in the light of day.

"You fuck me so good Bart," groaned the weighty woman as she braced herself back on the pool ledge, her 38-something specials splashing around like two hogsnapper on a hook.

"Here comes your friend," said Blake, relieved to see Bruce amble over and squat in front of the copulating couple, interrupting any silent communications between he and Bart - real or imagined.

"Mind if I watch?" said Bruce, as he sat on the edge, cupped some water into his lap, and began to twiddle his dee-dum.

"This is my gal Sal," said the middle aged Bart, and with that very brief introduction, she lengthened her arm across Bruce's thigh and relieved him of his DIY duty. He rested back on his elbows and rocked up into her fist as her significant other escalated the dynamic.

"You want a piece of this?" asked Bart, as he flipped his gal on her belly, dragged her towards the ladder where he took a seat on the top rung, and guided her face to his groin. She gripped the rails and took him into her mouth.

"My pleasure," said Bruce, jumping to his feet, his beef baton clubbing his stomach before descending into the water to divine Sal's wellspring.

"Go for it!" came a shout from a Sasquatch of a man as he and his wife, who was just as big and tall, but not quite as hairy, took a seat in the vicinity of the slophockey. They were naked from the waist down, but wearing matching teeshirts that read, 'FULLY VAXXED AND TOTALLY WAXED,' thereby violating pool policy, as well as good taste.

As Bruce jerked Gal Sal's hips fore and aft grunting his way to his first resort-inspired release, Bart bobbed her head up and down on his hardware by her hair. Taking it rough at both ends, she slapped on the water like a seal hamming it up for herring at SeaWorld.

"Christ, the poor woman's being assaulted," huffed Blake, turning to look at Krystal, "and aren't you supposed to wear a cond... what are you doing? Are you...?"

"Blake, I'm so horny it hurts," Krystal murmured, her legs butterflied on the chaise, the sari swirled in her lap, her right hand roaming around beneath it, "Help me! Flatten my chair! Put the seatback down!"

Her directive was as desperate as it was demanding, and Blake wasted no time arguing with himself as to whether or not to comply. She laid back and spread to rest her thighs over the chaise arms, revealing herself to him - her pink-wink wet and swollen, her man-in-the-boat, overboard.

And then everything but Krystal muted and faded to black, as Blake's senses were completely consumed by her beauty and abandon.

"Oh God, I'm right there," she moaned, placing her feet on the chaise arms and lifting her hips, offering him a 3D gynecological perspective of the wonderland beneath her champagne bush, glistening with a mix of sunscreen, sweat, and natural nectar, dizzying him with its blended scent. It slayed him - he couldn't breathe - he couldn't move. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything, but he knew the invitation was not forthcoming. So he protected her, holding up his towel to seclude her, and so that he alone could applaud her liberation.

And so, with only her fingers to fuel the fire, Krystal engulfed herself in a raging flame. Her detonation Nagasakied him, rendering him limp - well with one notable exception - and although unable to express his profound appreciation in words, his severely stiff one-eye gave her a standing ovation. When she rolled onto her side and drifted into oblivion, he draped her lovingly with his towel, then dog-paddled to the deep end to decompress.

******

What was that? Blake alarmed, feeling something brush across his calves as he treaded water among the increasingly animated and intoxicated throng. When he felt it again, this time along the back of his thighs, his mind jumped to SHARK! That was ridiculous of course, but he lunged for the pool edge anyway.

"Well hi there," said the copper-topped gnome, popping up between his arms and flashing a bright smile.

"Hi," said Blake, gliding a hand across the water away from her, releasing her from his unintentional corral.