“Do you want me to help you?” I asked.
She smiled nervously. “I guess so.”
She dropped her hands to her sides and watched while I undid the last couple of buttons. Her blouse fell open, revealing a cream colored bra with a small lace border across the top. Her skin was porcelain-white, which made it seem even more forbidden when I lifted the blouse carefully off her delicate shoulders.
We were sitting on the bed at a Clarion Inn out on the interstate. My wife Becky and Anne’s husband Biff were in the room next door, presumably doing the same thing. It was my wife’s idea — well, hers and Biff’s. I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the thought of handing Becky over to some ham-fisted muscle-bound redneck, but his wife Anne is so alluring, in that innocent girl-next-door sort of way, I couldn’t resist the offer.
“Your turn,’ she said shyly, looking like a Sears catalog model in her generic white bra. I pulled my T-shirt over my head. “Nice,” she said, running her hand across my chest. My chest isn’t really all that nice, at least compared to Biff’s muscle-man physique, but the fact that I’m not covered with bear hair may have been a welcome change of pace for Anne.
We heard the thump of music next door, and it helped to break the tension. “At least it’s not country music,” Anne chuckled, touching on one of the many little sore spots in her and Biff’s marriage. But don’t all marriages have sore spots? Little areas where, no matter who compromises, someone ends up getting the shaft? It made me realize that my wife and I really had it pretty good; no big arguments, no conflicting goals or lifestyle hang ups. No wonder Biff and Anne wanted to try the swap. They needed a break from the unbearable reality of being married to each other.
“Do you want me to put on the music video channel?” I asked, feeling a little awkward.
“No, I’m good,” she said, sitting there in her white bra and khaki shorts, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She turned her back so I could unclip her bra. I slid the straps off her shoulders. Facing me again, she stared wide-eyed as her bra fluttered into her lap. I took in the beauty of her small white breasts, like those of a teenager who hasn’t yet made it to womanhood.
“They’re not as nice as your wife’s,” she said, staring down at her chest.
“They’re lovely,” I said, reaching out my hand to touch her. She flinched when my fingers found the soft innocence of her flesh. Touching her reminded me of my first girlfriend, all those years ago, in my bedroom when my folks were out. “Do you want me suck your nipples?”
“Sure,” she said, “I’d like that.”
She lay back on the bed and I settled down next to her, resting my arm on her waist. I took a small pink nipple in my mouth and felt it stiffen between my teeth.
“Oh my,” she gasped, “that’s nice.”
I scooted a little lower and let my knee nestle up between her legs. Then I moved to the other tit, keeping the first one occupied with my fingers. Slowly, her legs opened, till my thigh was gently nudging her mound. “Do you think we should get a little more undressed?” I asked, letting her slimy nipple pop from my mouth.
”I guess so,” she said, pulling away from me so she could sit up.
“Let me do it,” I said, sliding my hand down her tummy to the waistband of her bermuda shorts. She watched me while I undid the zipper, and then she raised her butt so I could slide the shorts down her white legs. Her shorts snagged the edge of her white panties, but she grabbed them, preferring to keep them on for the time being, even though I could see outline of her dark bush under the white cotton panel.
“I guess I’ll take off my pants now,” I said, hoping she’d volunteer to help. She just lay there, her arms crossed over her breasts, looking a little scared, so I eased my jeans down. I was already hard.
“Do you want to cum on my tits?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, climbing up on the bed and straddling her. She just lay there looking at me, so I gently took her hands and guided them to the waistband of my shorts. She edged them down carefully, since the head of my cock was snagged at the top. Finally, it popped out, and she let out a little gasp.
“Cool,” she said, as she fished my cock free. She squeezed it a couple of times, and I realized I really should be naked for this.
“Give me a second” I said as I hopped off the bed and stepped out of my jeans and shorts. Then I straddled her again, my dick pointing at the wall above her head. She slid her hands up and wrapped her fingers around the base. Her touch was tentative, delicate, which only added to the tension. She cupped my balls. My dick twitched, seeming to get even bigger.
“Do you want me to spit on it?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, wishing she’d offered to put it in her mouth instead, but she was setting the rules. That was one of the things we had agreed upon before the swap. Whatever the lady says, goes. We’d also agreed that we wouldn’t need to use condoms, since we were both monogamous couples using birth control, and there would be no need to worry about STD’s or kids.
I watched as she spit a big glob of saliva into her palm and then slathered it onto the tip of my dick. “Oh God Anne, that’s perfect,” I moaned, as she went to work swirling her hand up and down my slimy cock. With her eyebrows scrunched in concentration, she looked so earnest, do dedicated to her task, it made me want her even more. Suddenly, I didn’t want to cum on her tits, I wanted to cum inside her.
“Am I doing it wrong,” she asked, looking up at me in alarm.
“No Anne. That’s perfect. It’s just that…”
“Do you want me to do this?” she asked, sliding a finger up towards my asshole.
It was too late to stop now. “Yeah,” I whimpered, bucking my hips. I could feel them semen building. “I’m getting close,” I gasped as the unmistakable urge kept building. “Now!” I grunted. She jerked my dick down so the jizz wouldn’t hit her in the face, and my cum started shooting out, all over her white freckled tits.
“You like that?” she asked, pumping me furiously.
“Yeah,” I moaned, shuddering with the spams of my orgasm. She kept going, her fingers just barely hitting the ridge of my dick. Obviously, Biff had taught her well.
“You’re really good at that,” I said, trying to catch my breath.
“Were you saving it up?” she asked, looking down at the marbly blobs puddled between her tits and on her collarbones.
“I guess so,” I said, suddenly feeling guilty. It had been at least a week since my wife and I had done it, partly because we were so stressed about the upcoming swap. And now, here I was, dripping what was left of my jizz on Anne’s left tit. I should have been happy, but there was a strange emptiness, as if there was something missing. That something missing was love. Commitment. Knowing you’re going to be with someone for the rest of your life.
“I’ll go get cleaned up,” Anne said, raising up on her elbows.
“No Anne, let me do it.” I jumped up off the bed and hustled to the bathroom to fetch a washcloth. Coming back from the bathroom, looking at Anne laying thee on the bed with her small breasts smooshed up so my jizz wouldn’t run down her sides, the pangs of guilt disappeared. She looked so vulnerable in her white panties, it was as if I my job was to make sure she got what she needed this afternoon. If there was something Biff wasn’t giving her, it was my job to do it, even if she wasn’t my wife.
She let me clean up the mess, and then I cuddled up to her. “Is it your turn to cum?” I asked, as my fingers slipped under the top of her panties.
“I’m not ready yet,” she said, grabbing my hand and clamping it against her firm tummy. We stayed like that, frozen in time, for at least a minute. Then we heard it, the thumping of the headboard against the wall next door.
“Damn him!” she blurted, turning her back to me and curling up in the fetal position. “This was his idea, not mine.” Then she started whimpering, covering her face with her hands. I spooned her, careful not to touch a breast or worm my hand down between her legs.
“It’ll be over before you know it,” I whispered.
It did no good. She just lay there, her shoulders heaving, her breathing racked with the sporadic gasps of her grief. I gave her another minute, and then I tried again. “I wasn’t thrilled with the idea either.”
“Why?” she blurted. “Because I’m not as hot as your wife?”
“That’s not it, Anne, and you know it.” I held her, waiting for the noise next door to stop. Finally, the action on the other side of the wall ceased and we could hear the music again. I gave Anne another moment to calm down.
“If it’s any consolation Anne, I’ve been hot for you since the first day we met, but I never dreamed it would actually come to this.”
“Liar,” she sniffled, pulling my hand up between her clammy tits.
“You have timeless beauty, Anne. Your tits aren’t going to be down to your waist when you’re old, you’re not going to weigh three-hundred pounds. Face it girl, you’re going to be a hottie for the rest of your life.”
“You’re such a bullshit artist,” she grinned, looking back at me. There was an awkward silence, and then she rolled over on her back, her face inches from mine. “Kiss me,” she whispered.
As our lips met and we kissed, tentatively at first, as if neither one of us knew how. Who initiates the tonguing when the girl’s in charge? She solved that dilemma for me by opening her mouth. We kissed harder. As our tongues began the dance, she guided my hand down her tummy and into her panties.
“Go slow,” she whispered, kissing my face.
Her tummy felt different than my wife’s, firmer, flatter. As my hand slid lower, I found her pubic hair. It felt wispy and light, unlike my wife who trims often, leaving stubble around the edges of her manicured muff. I opened my fingers, sliding them down each side of her mound, being careful not to touch her most sensitive place. She thrust her pelvis upwards to meet my touch. She was no longer kissing me now, she was taking long deep breaths, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling,
When my fingertips found the heat of her pussy, she gasped. I traced her slit and she moaned. I stuck a finger inside her and she giggled. I found the lump of her clit with my thumb, and gently started teasing it, barely touching her, while I eased a second finger inside her.
“Yes!” she cried, jerking her panties down her thighs. “Eat me! Make me cum!”
I jumped up and fished her panties off her ankles. Opening her legs wide, she had the sneering look of a porn star, her mouth hanging open, her eyes half closed. I dove for her pink goodness, shoving her legs in the air like I do my wife when she’s feeling nasty. Anne’s pussy was delicious, more tangy, or perhaps less musky than my wife’s. Her puffy lips glistened with wetness, and in a matter of moments, my chin was dripping with her juice.
“Three fingers,” she commanded. I complied, and her rhythm became more intense. “Play with my asshole.” I took a wet finger and probed the puckered pink opening. “That’s it!” she shrieked, as her body stiffened. Juice oozed out of her twitching pussy as her moans grew more high pitched. I stuck in another finger and probed deeper. Her pussy seemed bottomless, opening up like a blooming flower. Finally, I tucked my thumb inside the other fingers and buried my hand in her we cunt, clear up to my knuckles.
“Yes!” she gasped, in a whispery voice. “Yes! Yes!”
She was almost quivering now, her whole body as tense as a stretched rubber band. I kept fucking her with my hand, and she kept whimpering, gasping, so close… so incredibly close.
Finally, her orgasm hit, her whole body spasming as if she was fighting off a taser. She rode her orgasm for at least a minute, gasping, bucking her hips, her cunt literally dripping, leaving a wet spot on the sheets. She kept her fingers snarled in my hair, ready to push me away when she was done, but she wasn’t done yet. It was as if her orgasm came in waves. As soon as it subsided, it would start again. Finally, she gave me the nudge and I stopped.
I looked up, past her bucking hips and quivering stomach. “You going to want more in a minute?” I asked. At this point, I had forgotten all about my wife. All I wanted to do was make Anne cum again. It gave me such a feeling of satisfaction, as if I was finally doing something right, compared to when I was with my wife, whose major talent seemed to be pointing out what I was doing wrong.
Anne didn’t answer, she just gave my wrist a tug, the signal that it was time to cuddle. I snuggled up beside her and basked in her after-orgasmic grin. She looked over at me, her face all sweaty, her hair all tangled, and gave me a sloppy kiss.
“God I needed that,” she sighed, clamping my hand on her tit. “I can’t remember the last time I had one that good.” She sighed, trying to catch her breath while her hand found its way down to my soft dick. “How long have we got,” she asked wearily, looking at her watch.
“Half an hour, I think.” The feel of her hand on my cock woke me right up, and in thirty seconds, I was hard again. She slid down the bed and took my cock in her mouth while I found her wet, puffy slit with my finger. We did that for a while, and then she jumped up on her hands and knees.
“Fuck me!” she snarled, looking over her shoulder at me. “Fuck my brains out!” I climbed up on my knees and stuck it in her slimy pussy.
“Give me all of it! Every last inch!” Her voice was getting louder now. I couldn’t tell if she was really into it or just putting on a show for her husband in the next room, but it wasn’t worth worrying about. Her cunt felt so good — a little more accommodating than my wife’s — and I wasn’t about to question her motives.
“That’s it!” she bellowed, slamming the head board against the wall. “Harder!” The sound of my groin slapping her slimy ass was almost as loud as the thumping of the headboard, and I was pretty certain, even with the music playing next door, Biff and my wife would know we were taking good advantage of our once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Then it hit me, the guilt, the fact that I love my wife more than anything in the world. Suddenly, I felt cheap, like some sleazeball loser having a one-night stand in a motel, and Anne’s screaming and moaning only made it worse. As she worked her clit frantically, my dick went from rock hard to ambivalently semi-hard, but it didn’t matter. She was well on her way to another orgasm, and when she had it, she didn’t even know I’d gone soft.
I managed to stay inside her till she was finished, and then I eased out. We flopped down on the bed, both of us exhausted, but for different reasons. I offered Anne first shot at the shower.
“We could shower together,” she said with a sly grin.
“Is that allowed? I don’t want to piss off my wife.”
“Oh God,” she giggled, “you’re too much.”
She padded across the room naked, her boyish ass slimy with sex juice, and disappeared behind the bathroom door. I waited, but after five minutes it was apparent that her idea of a quick shower was different than mine, so I got dressed. Finally, five minutes before our hour was up, she peeked her head out the door.
”Could you hand me my things?” she asked, in that same awkward way as before we’d gotten undressed. I obliged. She grabbed her rumpled clothes, remaining behind the door so as not to compromise her modesty.
She came out a few minutes later, all buttoned up and looking fresh and innocent, and we strode outside. There was an awkward silence, finally broken when the door of the next unit opened and my wife and Biff appeared, looking just as uncomfortable as Anne and I.
“Thank you, Biff,” my wife said, reaching out to shake his big gnarly hand.
“My pleasure, ma’am,” he said in his annoying southern accent.
Anne turned to me and extended her hand. “It was very nice, Dan” she said in a very businesslike tone. I smiled and returned the complement, and then we found the way to our cars, Becky and I in our Volvo, Biff and Anne in their four-by-four.
My wife and I sat in silence while we waited for Biff and Anne to pull out. Then she turned to me and took my hand. “How was it?”
“I don’t know,” I said, wondering what the right answer might be. “I got off, so I guess it was okay.”
“We could hear you,” she said, her pleading eyes searching my face. “It sounded like it was more than just ‘okay’.”
“I think Anne liked it more than I did.”
“That’s not surprising,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “I can smell her pussy juice on your face. You could have at least gotten cleaned up when you were done.”
“Anne hogged the bathroom,” I said. “There was no time.” At this point, I was wishing we could start over, as in, go back in time and not even do the stupid wife swap in the first place.
“No time?” she said, her voice rising. “No time? You had an hour, for Christ’s sake. How long does it take you to fuck me, three minutes?”
I looked over at my wife, the love of my life, and swallowed hard. How had it come to this? What made us think we could test our marriage this way and come out unscathed?
I fired up the Volvo and pulled out onto the frontage road. As we drove silently through the dreary afternoon, the wall between us was as palpable as if we were in two separate rooms. Finally, I reached for her hand.
“Wasn’t this your idea, honey?” I asked.
She slapped my hand away and squirmed up against the passenger door. “I couldn’t do it,” she said, in a quiet, emotionless voice. “I chickened out.”
The feeling of dread descended upon me like the closing of the curtain at the end of a tragic play. Even though it was her idea to swap, now it was my fault that I’d gone through with it? I bristled.
“How far did you go?” I asked, hoping for some justification, some point I could use to justify my behavior.
I was greeted by silence, as if she had to decide how much to tell me. Finally, she said “Naked,” barely audibly.
“Just naked? No touching? No kissing?”
She sighed, staring out the window. “There was touching. And kissing. But when he tried to stick it in, I freaked.”
“So then what?” I asked, the sickening feeling of jealousy rising in the pit of my stomach. “Did you suck him off?”
“No!” She snapped, glaring at me. “I gave him a hand job and then I went into the bathroom and cried. That’s when I heard him rattling the headboard.” She buried her head in her hands and started sobbing quietly.
I pulled the car over, unbuckled my seatbelt, and snuggled up to her side. “We didn’t want to do it either,” I said softly, trying to remain calm. “Anne was crying too, but when we heard the headboard banging, she got pissed off and decided to go for it.”
“And you just loved that, didn’t you?” my wife said, glaring at me. “Going for it with Anne for a solid hour, and getting her pussy juice all over your face. Get away from me! You stink!”
I slithered back to my side of the seat and stewed for a few moments. “So you’re saying after you and Biff got naked, you just changed your mind and decided not to have sex and then you jacked him off?
“God I hate this,” she hissed. She looked down at the floor, seething. Finally, she looked over at me, the anguish on her face turning her into a garish caricature of the woman I married all those years ago. “He tried to stick it in, but it was too big. Are you happy now? His cock was too fucking big, and even after I spit on it, it still wouldn’t fit and I couldn’t do it.”
I should have let it go at that, but it didn’t sound right. My wife likes sex. She likes seeing cum dripping off her nipples. She likes masturbating in front of me, and sucking on her slimy fingers when she’s done. Surely she’d find a way to make something good out of her time with Biff.
“So that’s it?” I asked, “you and Biff got naked, and when his dick didn’t fit your cunt, you just gave up and jacked him off into a tissue? You didn’t blow him, or have him cum all over your tits? I’m having a hard time picturing you naked, jacking a guy off with a tissue in your hand, Becky.”
“Alright,” she sighed. “He came on me. Are you happy now?”
“On you where? On your tits, on your ass, on your face? Where, exactly did he come on you?”
“You really want to know,” she said, more as a statement than a question.
“Well, let’s see. Face, neck, breasts, stomach, thighs, bush, pussy, and both hands.”
“What?” I gasped. “He did all that with one orgasm?”
“Big dick, big load — a concept that’s obviously beyond your comprehension.”
“Dammit Becky, that was uncalled for.”
“You’re the one who wanted to know.”
I knew I should never have asked, but we all do stupid things in the heat of the moment. “So,” I continued, unable to stop myself, “did you taste it? Did you scoop up Biff’s cum with your finger and slurp it into your mouth like you do with mine?
“Jesus Dan, just drop it.”
“Look Becky, I’m just trying to establish why I’m the bad guy here and you’re innocent. I think we’re both responsible for what happened today, and I don’t think you can hang it all on me.”
“You know, you’re right. The fact that you got your rocks off and I didn’t is perfectly acceptable. It happens every day. Every fucking day. Well you know what? Today was supposed to change all that, but it’s the same old shit, so excuse me for getting upset. In fact, I admit it, you’re right, I am the bad guy here and you’re the hero. And I did taste his cum. It was tangy. And I swallowed it. All of it. Now, will you please just leave me the fuck alone?”
She folded her arms across her chest, her jaw set, her gaze fixed on some unknown point on the horizon. She was past crying now, no doubt withdrawing back into her shell — a shell that had taken so long to open.
I started the car, turned on the radio, and of all the songs for the classic rock station to play, ‘Yesterday’ came on. I turned it down, but not off. There was something comforting about the idea that I wasn’t the first guy to ever wish he could turn back the clock to the way things used to be.
When the song was over, I pulled out into traffic, realizing that even though I knew the way home, I had no idea where we were going.