Just a Swingin' Pt. 03

"That better be him," Krystal growled, marching to the door having heard the unsuccessful attempt to unlock it. She pressed down hard on the handle and yanked.

"Where the hell have you... oh my God what happened?!"

Blake zombied through the door, banged-up, barefoot, teeshirt torn, and his bathing suit on backwards. When his knees hit the end of his bed, he timbered into it face first.

"You look like you've had the life sucked out of you," said Krystal, standing over him.

"That's a pretty accurate description," he groaned, turning his head in her direction.

"What do you have on?" he asked, squinting against the kaleidoscope of metal dazzle.

Krystal stepped away from the bed, bringing herself into focus as she modeled a silver-sequined mini-dress split open from neck to navel.

"You like?" she asked.

"What's preventing it from falling off?" asked Blake, struggling to gauge the mechanics, "There's no sleeves, no back, no zipper, no elastic, and no bra!"

"It's tied behind my neck, silly, and no bra necessary." Krystal squeezed her attentive breasts through the flimsy fabric. "Worth every penny of the 10-G Ken spent on them, don't you agree? Now get up and get dressed or we'll be late," she added, swatting his butt.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, dragging a pillow over his head.

"Oh yes you are mister!" she said, tearing the pillow from his grip, and hitting him over the back of the head with it.

"Stop it!" he said, fighting back against the marshmallow thrashing.

"Blake you have to!" she pleaded, pushing him over onto his back, "It's the first night! The Meet-n-Greet!"

"I can't!" he protested, flinging his elbow over his eyes and turning his head away, "I've been through the ringer. I've got nothing, Krystal, NOTHING! I need to rest - just for a couple hours."

Krystal wilted onto the edge of her bed.

"Let me guess: You attempted to shoehorn yourself into that tiny Tinkerbell, and she rejected you with malice."

"Her name is Tina, and you know me better than that," he said, "She came on to ME. She took me downtown and around town then left me to DIE! If some Good Samaritans hadn't pulled me from the deep end, I might have drowned!"

Krystal chuckled.

"You're such a drama queen, Blake. Now what exactly did she do that was so devastating? Tell me."

"I don't think I can," he said, burying his face in the pillow, "It's too personal."

"How personal can it be?" said Krystal, with a shrug, "Whatever she did, she did it in a pool full of people who were likely doing the same damn thing."

"Highly doubtful," he said.

"Come on, tell me," she said, stretching to squeeze his hand, "Have you forgotten what I shared with you today?"

Blake flushed with the flashback of Krystal's face the moment she took herself over.

"How could I? It was unforgettable."

And with that, Blake rolled on his side towards her, tucked the pillow under his head, and proceeded to detail his carnal adventures with the diminutive diver, choosing his words carefully at first, then escalating with Krystal's body language, which signaled more than just silent acceptance of the salacious story. By the time he reached the climax, her sapphire eyes had doubled in size, her breathing had shallowed, and her thighs were red from rubbing in a futile attempt to scratch the itch between them. Unfortunately, this was exactly the time when Blake lost his pace, too shy to appropriately verbalize how he was blown to glory.

"I knew she was going to do it," he said, "because she SAID she was going to do it... well in so many words... and KNOWING she was going to do it, well it made the DOING of it so much more than just DOING it would have been."

"What did she DO, Blake? You're talking in circles."

"Well," he gulped, "she told me to stay very very still, and I did - in fact I froze - I was so nervous. And those few seconds between her command and her caress... my God Krystal... the anticipation... it was unbearable. Then when she finally did it - I mean I've.. ah... heard about such a thing of course, but never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine-"

"What the FUCK did she do?!" Krystal barked, then punched him in the shoulder.

"OUCH!" he yelped, rubbing the spot, "All right already!"

Blake took a long, slow, even breath, and held it.

"She... she... put... her finger..."

"Where?" Krystal asked, leaning in.

"In... in... my..."

And then he exhaled sharply.

"I can't say it," he said, turning his head away.

"Your ASS?!" she guessed.

Blake pursed his lips and nodded, red-faced by what he had just revealed.

Krystal slapped the mattress with both hands.

"DAMN! Underwater anal on the first date," she said, shaking her head, "Talk about brazen. Did she ask your permission?"

"No," he said, quietly, his eyes cast down, "Tina doesn't ASK - she just DOES, and quite honestly," He raised his timid gaze, "that made it all the more thrilling."

"Hehehehehe," Krystal snickered, wagging her finger at him, "I knew you were a little bit out there, you bad bad boy you. Sounds a bit uncomfortable, though, I mean, what did she use for lube?"

Blake cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Herself," he whispered.

Krystal rolled her eyes.

"Stop being so cryptic, Blake."

"She put her finger inside of HER, before she put it inside of ME. Told me she'd filled herself with silicone lube - said everyone does it before they get in the pool to ah 'grease the wheels' as she put it."

Krystal's mouth sagged.

"Jeeeeezuzzzz Blake. I never would have thought of that. That's hot!"

"And then she... she... she..."

"She WHAT?!" demanded Krystal.

Hesitation.

"She added another finger."

"Oh my God," Krystal groaned, collapsing back onto her mattress, "Of all the things I thought you might say - that wasn't one of them."

And so, having made it beyond the barricade of his initial embarrassment, Blake entered the TMI zone, and with unrestrained enthusiasm, raising himself up on one elbow and picking up the pace.

"Her fingers are so delicate, and DAMN, the way she used them; swishing the water around me - teasing me, kneading me, noosing me, knuckling up behind my-"

"Is it hot in here or is it just me?" asked Krystal, looking around for the thermostat.

"And that whole stay-still thing - not gonna lie - that teed it up for me. I was so primed for what I THOUGHT was coming, but she had more in store for me than just a little how's-yer-father, Krystal - oh yes she did - and I knew what it was the moment she told me her nickname."

Blake paused for effect.

"Do I have to ask? Or are you going to tell me?" said Krystal.

"The Milking Maid," he said, with a wink.

"No way," said Krystal, "She didn't."

"Oh YES way - WAY way - she DID!" Blake said, nodding with a wry smile, "She went where no one - except a medical professional of course - had gone before. And the finesse of those two fingers - JUST the right amount of pressure and in JUST the right spot. FUCK! I've never been so HARD!"

"OK OK, I got the gist of it," said Krystal, with a wave, "No more details."

But unfazed by her dismissal, and unwilling to leave anything to her imagination, he chattered on.

"So at that point, I just accepted Tina had my whole life in her hands, and I relaxed and gave myself over to the experience. I don't know how many times she edged me... hey did you know that if a man masturbates 5 times a week with repeated edging, he'll NEVER get prostate cancer?"

"No, I haven't heard th-"

"I think I read that in Men's Health magazine. Anyhoo, I don't know how long it went on, Krystal, but I do recall existing in that rarefied 'right there' state of being, just on the underside of full-blown orgasm, for what seemed like an eternity."

"Blake, you're killing me. I need to-"

"And then I came, Krystal... and I came, and I CAME! and I CAME!!"

Blake flung himself on his back and shivered head to toe.

"It was Krakatoan in scope - a full-body whip and crack - an eruption so powerful, I-"

And unable to squelch the drip, drip, drip precipitated by Blake's raw narration, Krystal bolted to the bathroom and wiggled her way out of her wet panties.

"The last thing I remember," he shouted, "was being wrestled out of the pool by a gang of four guys - their dicks swinging and slapping me around; it was truly surreal and quite humiliating. Someone dressed me and got me on the elevator. I don't know how I managed to find the room."

"You know, ejaculating in the pool is strictly verboten," Krystal said, as she emerged from the bathroom, smoothing her dress.

"Well I didn't," he said, "I finished in her mouth. Actually that's not accurate, I finished in her stomach - I was that far down her throat. And I don't care what the rules say, Krystal. That pool is so full of semen, it gives new meaning to the term 'breeding ground.'"

Krystal joined him in a weak giggle, then looped the silver chain of her purse over her bare shoulder, and turned towards the door.

"Krystal wait," he said, reaching for her hand, "Don't drink too much. You'll need all your wits about you, prancing around in that dress; it's deadly, and you look so beautiful in it."

"Aw shucks, thanks darlin'," she said, squeezing his fingertips.

"But never so beautiful as you were this afternoon, bathed in sun and sweat, writhing and quaking in that lounge chair. Watching you climax - it took my breath away. Ken is a very lucky man."

He sighed and kissed the back of her hand.

"BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" she burst, blasting through Blake's romantic reminisce, "Ken doesn't watch me writhe and quake and climax - EVER! Most of the time, he isn't even in the same damn room! Now rest up. I'll be in the disco, searching for that perfect swapportunity."

******

"Barb!" Ken shouted across the various organics at International Market.

Barb Cary waved, then briskly advanced her cartload of animal-free, hormone-free, zero-dairy, soyless, non-GMO edibles towards him.

"Hi Ken," she said, smirking, as she eyeballed his unwholesome elections, "What are you doing in the produce section? You might break out in hives."

"Hardy-har-har, Barb," he said, picking up a red grapefruit, then returning it to the heap, "Thought I'd try eating fruit for breakfast this week; I'm baching it. Krystal's gone to Key Biscayne to see her sister."

"I'm home alone too," said Barb, "Just me and the cats. Blake's in Miami at some conference. He left yesterday - be back Friday I think."

Ken arched an eyebrow.

"That's strange. Krystal left yesterday for Miami as well, and she's coming back Friday too; quite a coincidence."

Barb tucked her chin in like a turtle.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked.

"Hmmmm... I don't know what I mean, exactly," he said, "but what are the odds?"

"You're not suggesting they're together, are you?" said Barb, with a chuckle, "I mean South Florida is a pretty big place."

Ken knew he shouldn't go down the road he just steered the conversation on to, but it was too late - he was committed.

"Well, if they ARE together, it's probably because your husband tempted her with the idea at Murals Italian - all that talk about the lifestyle."

"You're joking, right?" she said, "It was Jeni and Tom who brought up the subject. Blake had nothing to do with it."

"Well, he sure seemed to know a lot about it and be all for it," said Ken, his mouth getting way ahead of his suspicious mind, "and we both know he's had a crush on Krystal since high school."

Barb knitted her brows, confused by Ken's unprovoked and unfounded assertion.

"High school Ken? Really? Have you gone insane? You've known Blake for decades. He's a kind and gentle spirit, and he's never given me any reason to doubt his devotion to our marriage. But if you're determined to find scandal somewhere, may I suggest you look in your own backyard. I don't need to tell you what Krystal's reputation is at the Club."

No, she didn't need to, but feeling the obligation to defend her husband further against the scurrilous charge, she reminded Ken nonetheless.

"They call her 'The Ready Golfer'," she said, raising her chin and crossing her arms, "and it's not because she moves the game along."

Ken prickled with the mention of Krystal's nickname. His friend Andy had told him about it last summer after one round of 9 holes and four rounds of rum and coke. He'd made light of it and encouraged Ken to do the same - said that kind of thing was to be expected when you had such a hot wife. Ken had laughed at the time - told Andy he felt like the luckiest man on earth. Right at this moment, however, he felt nothing of the sort.

"I'm quite aware of how men perceive my wife, Barb; let's face it, she's a head-turner and a flirt, but I'm confident she's never stepped over the line. Having said that, she IS an easy target, especially when she's had a few, and I don't appreciate her being maneuvered onto the path of temptation."

"The path of temptation, Ken? You are either delusional or in denial!"

Barb wrangled her way around him in an effort to take leave, and just then Ken realized his egregious error and grabbed the end of her cart.

"I'm sorry, Barb," he said, "That was way out of line."

He sighed and let go, his painful expression softening her stony demeanor.

"Look, it's no secret things have degraded between Krystal and me these last few months; I'm sure you've noticed. I keep looking for a reason, and this time I went too far afield."

Barb nodded sympathetically.

"Have you considered marriage counseling?" she asked.

Ken snorted.

"Hell no," he said, "We're both of us long past that stage. I probably shouldn't worry so much." He shrugged. "We've been through rough patches before - it'll work out. And hey, please don't mention this to Blake. I don't want anything to come between our friendship."

But despite his heartfelt retraction, the gnawing suspicion that had leapt to mind during that happenstance meeting at the market, resurfaced later that evening, prompting Ken to go down to the basement - Krystal's lair as it was known, where she had fashioned a she-shed out of what should have been his man-cave. The space was frequently inhabited by the ladies who lunched, and golfed, and gossiped, and guzzled with her, and having an aversion to anything pink in general, and to those women in particular, Ken rarely visited, unless it was to borrow a DVD or take a bottle of something special out of the full bar. That evening, however, he was on a very different mission. He turned on her computer, authenticated with her highly insecure and ubiquitous PIN - 1111, and navigated to her browser history.

******

Blake blinked himself to full consciousness and looked at the alarm clock: 2:07.

"That can't be right," he said, reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. When he confirmed it with his cell phone, he leapt to his feet; he'd been asleep for almost 7 hours. Much to his dismay, Krystal's bed was empty, but there was light peaking from under the bathroom door. He tapped softly, and getting no response, he went inside, but the only sign of Krystal was her pink satin bikini briefs. He lifted them from the hook, gently rubbed the cotton gusset between his thumb and middle finger, then pressed the delicate fabric to his nostrils and breathed in deeply; they were dry, but oh so fragrant. Why were they on the back of the door and not on Krystal? He wondered. And then he knew why, and what it implied.

Opting to forego a shave or shower, Blake raced to pull on a pair of white pants and a so-styled Hawaiian shirt. Having lost his flip-flops poolside sometime between Krystal's cumming and his own, he stepped into a pair of deck shoes and made his way to the disco, cautiously optimistic she would still be there. It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust when he entered the crypt-like club, and to re-establish his balance - he was on the dancefloor, and it was revolving beneath his feet. As a 360-degree perspective of the purple and gold interior came into focus, he realized it was completely empty; why the music was still playing was a mystery.

"Mr. Carrington!"

Blake turned towards the familiar vernal voice. It was Tina, appearing positively adolescent in a school uniform, complete with knee socks and patent leather Mary Janes - her boyish red bob pigtailed unevenly over each ear.

"Where is everyone?" asked Blake.

"They're in their beds, or someone else's," she giggled.

"Have you seen Krystal? My ah wife?"

"She was on the dancefloor, but that was hours ago. We've been upstairs for Theme Night - Catholic School Girls in Trouble."

Tina turned and lifted the pleated plaid miniskirt, exposing her flyweight fanny. Then she gestured behind her. "This is the friend I told you about."

The Amazon appeared in the dim light, sheathed in a shiny blue-black bodysuit almost the same color as her skin, giving the impression she was greased naked. With the assistance of platform boots and her mane molded high like meringue on a pie, she stood well over 6 feet. As she advanced, stately, smoothly, one foot directly in front of the other, like a model on the catwalk, her long cool shadow cast over him and eclipsed her peewee partner.

"I am Kenya," she said.

She spoke slowly, formally, and with an accent, possibly and ironically, Kenyan. She extended her arm and Blake shook her overly firm grip, then slow-rolled his gaze down her seemingly infinite and undulating terrain, her heat wafting up his nostrils and carrying with it the aroma of toasted spice. Under normal circumstances, this hypnotic exploration would have been considered highly inappropriate, but Blake figured it was more than appreciated - it was expected.

"And who are you supposed to be, Kenya?" he asked, quietly.

"The Devil," she growled, then her full lips unfurled and revealed the widest whitest smile - an almost blinding contrast with her skin. It lit up the dim room like a torch.

"Tina has told me about you, Mr. Carrington," she said, her knife-like index finger tapping the buttons down his shirt, before curling it just beneath his waistband."

Blake raised an eyebrow.

"What did she tell you?"

"She said that you have a most magnificent cock, and that you enjoyed her cross-examination today."

Blake gulped, feeling a wedgie coming on as Kenya dragged him closer by his pants.

"BUT! I am not so much interested in what she did for you, as I am to know what you can do for me. Am I correct in assuming that you have been to Obedience School, and you were a straight-A student?"

"Well I-"

Kenya rested her forehead down onto his.

"Wednesday night is FEMDOM," she said, her wide-set violet eyes commandeering his freedom, her mouth so close, his breath was carried away on hers.

"Most people dress up," said Tina, "but you don't have to."

"I think I can find something," he said, straightening his clothes, secretly giddy for the invitation, and thankful he'd had the foresight to pack just the right thing.

******

"BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

That laugh - there was no mistaking it, but unfortunately it was mixed up with another's, and as far as Blake was concerned, anyone else would have been preferable.

They stood face-to-face on the cool white sand against the backdrop of a tranquil sea and a sky pockmarked with stars. She held her sandals in one hand and a cocktail in the other. Both of his hands were occupied as well - with her hips. Blake wanted to yell out for her and take her back to the safety of their room, but she'd never forgive him for the intrusion, especially after his account of Tina's highly erotic sub-surface spaffing. And so he knelt behind a tree and watched, hoping Bruce would suffer a mild heart attack, or at the very least, erectile dysfunction.

"You know I still haven't met your wife," said Krystal, tossing the half-full glass to the ground and positioning her hand on Bruce's shoulder.