Swapping Wives

As is often the case, it started out innocently enough. Two old university friends--myself, I'm Dave Johansen, and my good bud, Joel Nelson--had met for a few long overdue brewskis at a local pub, while our wives were at some sort of shopping party--storage-ware, or leisure-wear, or whatever.

Joel and I had been teammates on the inter-collegiate rugby team, back in the day, and every few months we managed to get together, BS-ing in a bar, talking about the glory-days. That particular afternoon we were lamenting about the fact--or at least our perception of the fact--that, while being a successful jock through college certainly had its benefits--it certainly had made a guy a bit of a chick-magnet, as it were--we couldn't remember getting laid nearly as often as the popular myths would have one believe. So, we just sat there, moaning, sipping our beers, and commenting on the scenery--eyeballing the eye-candy.

Catching sight of one particular stone-fox entering the bar, and watching as she, scanned the room for her friends, before making a beeline to join them, I muttered, "I'd fuck her in a minute."

Joel replied, "Oh, come on! When you've got someone like Lori at home?"

"Well...."

Then, before I could organize my defense, Joel leaned in with an impish grin and opined, "Just between you and me, I'd fuck Lori in a minute given the right circumstances."

That surprised me. Not so much that he'd thought it, but that he said it out loud, in my presence. "The right circumstances? Like?... be careful here."

With a gotcha smile, he explained, "Like she wasn't my best friend's wife."

"Well," I pointed out, "surely, the same can be said for Clara!"

In the ensuing conversation we each admitted to, at one time or another, having the hots for each other's wife; in fact, Joel added, rather wistfully, "...Still do!" Sadly, as the conversation continued, we reached the conclusion that even a hottie can get kinda routine after coming-on twenty years of monogamy.

"Too bad we couldn't do a trade--swap wives, just for a night," Joel suggested, only half, I suspected, in jest.

"I don't know about Clara," I observed, "but Lori would never agree--not a chance."

Becoming oddly animated, Joel insisted. "But just say, if we could get them to go along...."

"Not a hope in Hell! Impossible."

"Maybe not." He paused, momentarily lost in thought. "Would you...? If we could?"

No harm in being honest, here--just between us boys. "Fucking A!"

"Then--just as an intellectual exercise--let's see if we can't come up with some kind of foolproof plan."

"It would have to unfold very, very gently."

"Yeah. And, even if it took all year, moved very slowly...." Joel left that thought hanging.

"Well," I said, knowing it was, really, all just fantasy, "I'm up for it if you are."

Taking a few contemplative sips of beer, we seemed to gradually focus, tentatively brainstorming; coming up with ideas on how to get the wives--Lori and Clara--involved. Ever so slowly a plan began to gel. Oh, it started out very, very slowly--glacially slow.

Joel and I quietly searched out soft-core porn about swinging and swingers' clubs; which we contrived to watch together with the girls, and encouraged discussion, both during and after, employing the old 'spice of life' rationale. We referred to all of it as fantasy, and reiterated, authoritatively, that fantasies keep things from getting stale. Then we tried watching others separately, before coming together to share ideas and thoughts, just like a book-club. Gradually, and this wasn't as easy as you might think, we viewed some more hardcore offerings--about swapping, and cheating, and cheating with best friends' spouses.

For the next step in our devious plan, Joel and I began to look for suitable weekend events; events that would take us out of the TV room. The first one was pretty much a matter of carpe diem--we only heard about it a few days before--a wine tasting getaway out in the valley. Luckily, we managed to snag the last available room at the participating hotels.

"At least it's got two beds," Clara remarked wryly, as we bundled our bags through the door on the next Friday evening. Following a marvelous dinner, with wine pairings, we migrated to the attached nightclub for dancing and drinks. After a couple more hours, everyone agreed it was time to retire. Taking turns in the bathroom, we staked out one of the two queen-sized beds each, and said "Goodnight" all around. The room was quite dark and surprisingly quiet once the lights were turned out.

"Now, you guys," I stated, with a mock-seriousness, "we don't want to be kept awake by any heavy breathing, or creaking bedsprings." After a bit more back and forth banter, the room went quiet. Everyone, it seemed, was waiting. Eventually, Lori and I carefully wrestled our hands into one another's sleepwear--for her, an oversized pajama top, and for me, boxers and a tee. As I dragged my fingers along her moistening labia, Lori trailed her kisses over my chin and down my chest. With one hand she pinched and squeezed my nipple, letting the other hand drop, to find, and grip firmly, my already straining woodie. As soon as Lori's pussy fell out of reach, my hands scrambled up in search of her succulent tits.

I let out an involuntary moan as Lori sucked my nipple between her teeth, while her own nipples stiffened to bullets under my rolling caresses. She let go of my breast, giggling, "Shhhhh! You'll wake them!"

A deep voice emerged from the dimness next to us. "We'll excuse the sounds of your love-making if you'll allow us the same courtesy." And, that seemed simple enough, but somehow it was like a pronouncement from God. "No problem," I whispered. Suddenly, I felt released from the constraints of propriety. And I think the others felt it, too--a new freedom; unrestrained--a paradigm shift, of sorts.

We still kept the lights out on that second night, though hotel rooms never get completely dark. In the dim half-light of the room, I glanced over to see the dark figures of Clara and Joel wrestling into sixty-nine--winding up with Clara on top. Joel's arms wrapped around her buttocks, obviously, pulling her tight onto his tongue--as evidenced by her jolt and satisfied moan. When I next got a peek, Clara had shuffled into reverse cowgirl. Watching out of the corner of my eye--while Lori licked and sucked and did magic things on my chest--I saw Clara twist her butt and rock back, apparently engulfing Joel's rod. Then she slammed her buttocks down against Joel's groin, and began immediately to rock into him. Stealing another glimpse, I saw that she'd settled into a steady rhythm, punctuating each down-stroke with a barely audible gasp. I watched, surreptitiously, as she deftly caught and cupped her flopping boobs with both hands, and, after a squeeze or two, hung onto them by nipples. It occurred to me that reverse-cowgirl was very much like doggie except that she did all the work. Joel just lay there and quivered, and rocked and quaked.

In any case, my attention was quickly drawn back, as Lori took me in straight cowgirl position. She had pushed me back onto the bed then straddled my thighs. Looking down onto my face, her lips offered a tiny, barely visible, enigmatic smile. She cupped her boob with her left hand and, rolling her nipple between her thumb and her forefinger, she reached down between her legs to find and lift and stroke my rapidly stiffening prick. After giving it a few pumps, she raised her butt up, and, holding my pulsating staff straight up, fitted its cockhead against her hot, puffy labia. Lowering herself onto my pole, she closed her eyes and let out a sigh of contentment. Excruciatingly slowly, she settled onto me, the velvet glove of her vagina, gripping my staff, gently but firmly. She didn't stop in her descent until our pubic hair mingled and her pubic bone rested on mine. Lori paused for a bit, before rising slightly, then dropping abruptly. She'd, once again, opened her eyes, her piercing gaze drilling into my head. She rose again; then dropped. Rise and fall, up and down, gradually increasing in frequency and amplitude until she was fucking me with an unprecedented passion and fury.

And all with a total lack of embarrassment--as if we'd been set free of such insignificance.

As much as I endeavoured to stay right with her, it wasn't long before my hips were bucking and bouncing as I tried to stab my entire being into her pussy. My orgasm hit to the accompaniment of vociferous protests: "Oh! OH! Oooohh!" I could feel my ejaculation, splashing against the back of her womb and running back down my shaft to puddle in my pubes.

That weekend was like the opening of a Pandora's box of sexual delights. Suddenly we were having more and better sex--virtually every day, or so it seemed. We were enjoying a fuller openness about sex; more open discussion; much more innuendo; and not just between husband and wife, but among the four of us. Joel and I marveled at how frequently our dear wives were visibly horny; Lori confessed that she and Clara were likewise thrilled with our improved, increased performance--thrilled with their constantly randy husbands.

It seemed to me, in the days and weeks that followed, that Lori had begun to ooze sexuality. It was like we had permission--permission to be naughty. And, strangely, some level of exhibitionism seemed to have become almost de rigeur. Was it that Joel and I were just more aware--noticing it more, or were our wives actually flaunting themselves more than ever?

Sometime later, the Nelsons--Joel and Clara--invited us around for dinner. Joel answered the door with a flourish, and beckoned us into the kitchen. There, fluttering about in final preparation, was Clara wearing a sort of lounging pajamas--wispy, gossamer things, with, obviously, nothing underneath. She was completely unconcerned with the flashing views she was displaying through the open top and loose, fly-front bottoms. Deciding, unilaterally, to hold with the philosophy that 'life is uncertain--eat dessert first' Clara seized Joel's hand and towed him to the stairs and up, saying, rather slyly, over her shoulder, "I'll bet we get back before you guys even get there."

"That sounds like a challenge to me," I laughed, pulling Lori into the family room as they disappeared upstairs. Mashing my lips against Lori's, we commenced with a flurry of hands under clothing and through openings. We were quickly aroused. Smoothly dropping her pants and panties, and stepping up to the couch, Lori looked back over her shoulder, the intent of her come-hither look was unmistakable. She leaned over the arm of the sofa and pushed her butt out. Fishing my stiffening member out of my trouser-front, I enthusiastically responded to her invitation, thrusting fully into her welcoming snatch. I could feel her vaginal muscles, gripping and releasing my erection as I sawed in and out, luxuriating in the moist heat of her tight pussy. I came quickly, but, given the circumstances, it could hardly have been considered too quickly. Regardless, Lori spun around and took me fully into her mouth as she sank to her knees.

Her talented tongue and lips had me back up in no time at all, and without hesitation, she flopped back onto the couch, and dropped her knees to the sides, opening herself deliciously. Dropping into her vee, I stabbed into her and started pounding like a rutting lion--with the expected results; another gusher of cum filling her to overflowing, as a modest orgasm shook her whole body, flushing her chest and cheeks with a hot blush. And, we'd cum just in time. I was zipping up; Lori straightening her waistband, when Clara and Joel appeared on the stairs. All of us smiling broadly, we proceeded with dinner as though nothing had happened.

Sometime later, discussing our rather novel (or so we thought) situation, Joel and I came to the same conclusion: even if we were never to realize the original wife-swapping fantasy, the changes we believed we'd cultivated had far surpassed anything we ever could have imagined. Still, it seemed that we were on the right track. Maybe, just maybe, we would succeed with the original plan; maybe even sometime soon. Ever the optimists, we kept up the..., the what? Erotic pressure? Bawdiness? Puerile hope? Whatever.

And over the next while, we--Joel and I--contrived to create some escalation. On a subsequent weekend, we ventured downtown for dinner at a high-end restaurant, then, we booked a city hotel, before heading out on a cocktail crawl. It is surprising, and marvelously convenient, how many cocktail lounges there are within an easy walking radius of any given downtown hotel! For one round at each establishment, we spent our time making up bawdy stories about fellow revelers--"Look at those two guys sitting at the bar. I think the taller one has just found out his wife is cheating on him...." "...having walked in on her fucking his neighbour...," "...and the shorter guy is his best friend, comforting him...," "...while busy trying to figure when he will get to bone her." Or rating the more exceptional specimens of the downtown nightlife--"Teal mini-skirt with CFM heels, against the back wall, I'd give her a ten...," "Nah. Tits are too big. Nine at the most;" or imagining, out loud, what some of them would be like in bed--"I wonder what equipment he has between his legs...," "...would be fun to unwrap that!" Needless to say, none of us were feeling any pain.

We eventually made it back to our hotel and our room--drunk and disorderly--and horny as hell. The four of us threw ourselves onto the beds we had earlier staked claim to. It was, in fact, all a bit tawdry, though none of us really cared. No one bothered to close the drapes, hence, the ever-changing kaleidoscope of colour from the street below flooded the room with light; however, we--both couples--were far too concerned with our respective 'Wham, bam' quickies which quelled, if not sated, the immediate hunger. Tearing at one another with an animal urgency, we were loud and ferocious; nothing was stifled--no need.

I was too busy to pay any attention to Joel and Clara, but for Lori and me the second round was only a wee bit slower--still as urgent. With hardly a pause long enough to catch our breaths, Lori pivoted, swinging herself over me into sixty-nine. While I licked and sucked her dripping pussy, eliciting a quivering, keening orgasm from her, she valiantly stayed on and over my recovering cock, until I was adequately rigid once more. Rolling off me to lay supine on the bed, it was my turn to pivot, and swing myself into the welcoming vee of her splayed thighs. Thrusting fully into her, her sodden bush and puffy labia caressing my erection, we settled into an almost lazy rhythm, our mutual climax sneaking up cautiously before washing our souls with ecstasy.

Before--or during--the third act, Clara and Joel went quiet on the next bed. About that time, satisfied and exhausted, and still a bit tipsy, Lori and I fell asleep, as well.

Waking up, late the next morning, packing our bags before hitting the breakfast room, yawns and groans were sprinkled liberally with twittering giggles that no one could stifle. Oh, yes, things were progressing 'way faster than either Joel or I could have imagined.

Only a few weekends later, we--the frisky foursome--made our way upcountry to the 'Small-Town, Big-Deal' Smokey Mountain Music Festival. I dropped the three of them at the gates, then hustled back to the motel to register, park, and stash our bags just inside door of the unit, before hoofing it back to festival entrance, and, eventually, meeting up with the others. We stayed out on the grounds until well after dark, partaking of the beer gardens, and listening to a variety of acts--some very good, and some mediocre. Notwithstanding, a marvelous time was had by all. After the closing act, we laughed and stumbled our way back to our motel.

Arriving at the door, the others milled about impatiently, as I fumbled with the key, and then, as the door swung open, we all, rather eagerly, bustled in. Upon spying the single king bed that dominated the room, Lori chirped, "Oh, this's gonna be fun!" Drawing thick black-out drapes over windows that looked right out onto the walkway, Joel said, gesturing at the two bedside lamps, "Might as well leave the lights on; otherwise we'll be wrestling blind--dancing in the dark, as it were." And, with that, as if at a secret, silent signal, we all began frenetically disrobing. While we quickly fell to making out, our energy reserves just as quickly flagged and it wasn't long before we all surrendered, in two tangled pairs, to sleep.

Waking late the next morning, we breakfasted briefly and made our way back into the festival grounds in time to catch the day's headliner. Then, we all agreed to meet back at the motel for a mid-afternoon break.

Although they were, I think, genuinely surprised at some of the ideas we guys proposed...,

For instance, that very afternoon, we got them up onto all fours--doggie-style--in opposite directions, ie. face to face. Kneeling behind them, we slipped easily into their already slick twats. Pausing at depth, Joel and I encouraged the girls to interact. "Caress one another; arouse each other." Although they seemed to find it rather humourous, they attempted to comply. "Touch, hold hands, tickle. Grab a handful of hanging boob, twiddle nipples." Steering them with our cocks--like single-tined fork-lifts, Joel and I tried to facilitate their caressing, eventually manhandling them into direct head-to-head positions, in which they would kiss passionately with every in stroke and moan out their building arousal with each withdrawal--rocking their hips back to chase us in our momentary retreat. The intensity of erotic energy generated was almost unbearable, and, amazingly--or maybe not--we, all four, climaxed at the very same instant! It was something to behold.

...the girls never balked; they simply accepted it all as just more personal challenges. Indeed, neither of them was ever, apparently, shocked at whatever we suggested.

------------------ o x o ------------------

We're getting close. I can feel it in my bones--or, perhaps more precisely, in my boner! So, that's what's led up to this: Joel and I have organized this surprise weekend getaway--five days at a mountain spa/resort--luxurious room, mini-bar, two queen beds, Jacuzzi. I've already begun to imagine myself fucking Clara. What will she be like; will I be able to wrench a stronger, louder orgasm from her? I smile to myself, confident that I might--that I will--very soon, find out.

The very moment we arrive at the room, and drop our bags, Clara calls out, "The last one to climax is a rotten egg!" And immediately we are tearing at our spouse's clothing and fucking like crazy.

Clara cums almost right away. It's like she had a head start or something, or maybe just the idea of racing to orgasm really turns her on. Her erotic gasping and moaning builds rapidly to a fevered keening, virtually drowning out the chorus of arousal made by the rest of us. I cum next, in no small part due to Clara's vociferous orgasm, with Lori right behind me. Joel is, much to his chagrin, last, not that anyone really cares at this point.

We dress up for our first evening, and have a wonderful time through a sumptuous dinner, drinks, and dancing, before heading back to our room. The atmosphere is one of sated contentment. As we casually get comfy, removing jackets and ties and shoes, Lori surprises everyone when she says, "Okay Nelsons--I'll bet Dave and I can get there before you two." From my dear wife?! Joel and I stand motionless, for a moment, our jaws drooping, astounded--though we are swiftly gathered into action by our take-charge spouses. Suddenly, we are screwing side by side, in an informal first-to-climax competition. Once again, attendant vocalizations and squeals of arousal fill the room, and pull each of us along. Basically, it is too close to call.