Swinging in the 70s

She woke me with kisses, tiny little butterfly kisses, covering my face.

As my eyes fluttered open she asked, quite seriously, "Is it really adultery if your spouse knows and approves?"

And I suddenly realized what she was asking.

If you stop to think about the 10 Commandments, once you get past all of the "Worship Me" stuff, adultery falls just below killing in the list of those "shalt nots." And as a good Catholic girl, all of the sisters had been through parochial school, this would be something that she would be concerned about. I wasn't sure how deep her faith went, but it was interesting that she asked that of someone, not her husband, with whom she was, obviously, interested in adulterering again.

I laughed softly and said, "Yes. You're a naughty girl and must be punished."

"Promise?" she asked, and something in the way she asked made me realize she meant it.

She was looking down at me, her pretty eyes smiling but she was tearing up as well.

So I answered honestly.

"If it doesn't hurt and you don't cry, it's not really punishment," I said, "If you trust me, then we won't need anything silly like a "safe word."

"Yes," she said.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Yes," she said again, and kissed me, "Yes, I understand and accept your conditions."

"Okay," I said, "but first."

I pulled her down for a hard kiss, my hand roaming, exploring, enjoying.

I released her, grinned my best maniacal

Joker

grin, and said, "BREAKFAST."

She squealed and giggled as I did my best Dracula imitation, growling deep in my throat as I latched onto her nipple.

And I was addicted. Instantly. Completely. Helplessly.

Her milk was warm and sweet, and flowing freely. I would come to understand, later, with experience, that she was engorged and probably needed to be nursed or pumped the night before. She breathed out a sigh as she let down and started flowing, a sound that can only be described as contentment.

I didn't know what I was doing. I was sort of sucking on her nipple.

"Easy, Baby," she said, a soft little giggle in her voice, "I'm not going anywhere. Open your mouth a little, Honey."

So I did and she used her hand to work her areola and a little more of her breast into my mouth.

And instinct took over.

I latched on properly, my lips covering her breast above her areola, and my tongue massaging her nipple against the roof of my mouth.

She sighed again, supporting my head in the crook of her arm. She was humming a soft lullaby, stroking my hair, brushing imaginary hairs away from my face.

And I was relaxed as completely as I had ever been. I nursed for some timeless time before she used her finger to break my latch, adjusted our bodies, and offered her other breast. I noticed how hard it was, engorged, as I latched on and had to suck to start her flow again, but when it started I was drinking again, nursing, feeding, drawing nourishment from her body. Christ, I'm babbling but this was new to me and it was fucking

WONDERFUL

.

Eventually, minutes, hours? later, I was, well, not "full" in that way you feel after the Thanksgiving stuffing, but sated in a way I had never felt before. She was humming softly, stroking my hair again, whispering so softly I could barely make it out.

"This isn't wrong," she was saying,

sotto voce

, "This can't be wrong. It feels too good. It can't be wrong." I realized it was almost a litany for her as I opened my mouth, releasing her nipple, and turned my face up to look at her.

"This isn't wrong," I said, softly.

She smiled down at me and I saw that she was crying. She wasn't sobbing or bawling, but tears wet her cheeks and her nose was running.

"David," she said, stroking my hair, "I'm married."

"Is it really adultery if your husband knows and approves?" I asked, mirroring the question she had asked.

She smiled, and there was one of those cases where you've seen the word written down but never used it yourself.

She smiled wanly.

"David, that's not how I was raised," she said.

"So," I said, "What do you need."

She was silent for a long time, her eyes unfocused, staring off into the distance.

She moved suddenly, quickly, rolling away from me so swiftly that my head fell to the pillow.

She rolled onto all fours in that position only a woman can pull off. Her back was arched. Her breasts, empty now, saggy, hung free, the stretch marks on them clear. Her knees were parted on the sheet as they carried her weight. I couldn't help but notice that the ridiculously thick pubic hair ran up the crack of her ass, her

gluteal cleft

if you like the more proper nomenclature, and spread, although not as thick, across the bottom of her cheeks, right where she sits.

She was sex, incarnate.

"Fuck me, David," she said, "Like the worthless whore that I am."

"Myra," I started but she talked over me.

"Please, David," she said, "I NEED this. Now fuck me like a bitch in heat."

And I was hard and ready so I did.

I moved behind her, pausing to admire the way her pussy was leaking. She might be craving something kinky, but she was obviously, visibly, aroused.

I reached down and guided myself to touch where she was dripping in her excitement.

With no warning, I slammed into her hard enough that she had to push back. There was an audible SMACK as the pubic arch low on my belly slapped her ass.

"Uhnnnn," she grunted.

"What are you?" I asked, emphasizing my word with a slap to the side of her ass.

"A WHORE!" she said, loudly, not quite a yell but close.

I pulled out, slowly, drawing a little whimper from her, and then SLAMMED in again. This time the SMACK was accompanied by an audible splash as I contacted where she was SO wet.

"What are you?" I asked again, slapping her ass right where my red handprint was.

"A SLUT!," she said, louder, almost a yell.

I took her like that, punishing her with sex, and, I'm a little ashamed to admit, enjoying it. I took her slowly, pulling out, slamming in, and asking the question - "What are you?"

"A CUNT!" she cried.

"A BITCH!" she bawled.

"A CUMDUMP!" she shrieked.

"A TRAMP!!!!" she wailed and came, soaking us both.

I raked my nails down her back, leaving eight parallel lines, red and then turning white, and she howled, a wordless cry, and came again, her womanscent thick in the air.

I held her then, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, holding her to me, as the tension of her climax passed slowly, and she relaxed.

When I pulled out, suddenly and quickly, she whimpered.

I pushed, applying pressure but not forcing her, until she was on her back and then I entered her. We fit nicely, in the classic face-to-face missionary position, and I kissed her.

It was a sloppy kiss, her lips were snotty from the way she had been crying and she was still crying, breathing hard through her nose, adding to the mess on our mouths.

It was a good kiss too. Tender and gentle, a loving kiss.

I felt her fingers entwine in my hair and then pull me away, breaking the kiss. I noticed that our mouths were still connected by thin strings of mucus and saliva and thought that might be the most erotic thing I had ever seen.

"Say you love me, David," she said, her voice thick and almost bubbly, "You don't have to mean it, but say it, please."

I smiled, kissed her again, pulled back far enough to focus on her eyes, and said, "I love you."

And I meant it.

Oh, I didn't mean I was going to leave my wife and run away with Myra. But I did mean it. I loved her then and, for that matter, I love her now, LO these MANY moons later.

"I," she started but I cut her off with another kiss.

"You are forgiven, Myra," I whispered before kissing her again.

"You are a beautiful woman," I whispered, and at that instant, it was a simple truth. She was beautiful in that way only a completely satisfied woman can ever be, with her face relaxed, her smile pure happiness, and all signs of stress gone.

I kissed her again as she started to speak.

"With a normal woman's needs," I whispered, my tongue touching her ear.

I kissed her again as she started to speak.

"Your need for punishment is yours, not some divine requirement," I went on, wanting to finish the thought, "but," and I chuckled, "I'll be happy to accommodate all of your little kinks."

She smiled at that.

"Fill me up, David," she said, pulling me down for a kiss and starting to thrust with her hips.

And I came. I was pretty pent-up and I came, just like that, surprising me with the power of my ejaculation. It was powerful and complete, that agony/ecstasy only a man can know taking my breath.

I was young, healthy, and in good condition, but this was the second time in just a few hours and I softened and slipped out almost instantly, drawing a little whimper from her.

I managed to move off of her and then sort of collapse beside her, our heads sharing a pillow and our lips brushing each other as we panted in the afterglow.

Another of those timeless times passed. Our lips brushed, my hand on her hip lightly massaged while hers on my waist mirrored that movement. Our breathing slowly returned to normal as we touched, caressed, and kissed.

"I'm glad," she said in her soft voice, "that you said 'yes.'"

I chuckled softly and said, "Me too."

I don't know how long we lay like that. It was, as I said, timeless. I was aware of the shades brightening and then my need to pee so I separated from her, gently, with about a dozen kisses, and rolled out of bed.

In the bathroom, I had to chuckle. My dick, never very long, was just a little stub after last night and this morning, so I sat to pee.

And she walked in and kissed me.

This was another first for me, so far outside of my experience that I didn't know how to react so I sat there, accepting her kiss.

Her hand moved slowly down my belly as she held the kiss, until she pressed down, gently, making sure I was pointing straight down.

She broke the kiss and giggled.

"It's a very special intimacy," she said, "now relax."

I don't know how long it took, me concentrating on trying to relax while unable to ignore the feeling of her fingertip pushing me down or, well, the taboo we were breaking as something so private was shared. But eventually, as it must, my stream started.

She kissed me, and held the kiss while my bladder slowly drained.

And she was right. I suppose it was the taboo, a lifetime of training being broken by doing something so private with another touching me. But on another level, it was the pure physical sensation of the kiss as I peed.

When I finished she shook me, expertly I noted, and then said, "My turn."

I stood and we switched places. I was fascinated with everything that was happening. She sat with her knees apart and pulled me down for a kiss. It didn't take long until I heard, for the first time, that odd hissing sound of a woman peeing, and when I broke the kiss to peek I was amazed at how big her stream was.

She giggled and pulled me down to resume the kiss. This time I held it until that sound ended.

Those educated fingers of hers tangled in my hair and pulled me away.

"I don't like to drip dry, Honey," she said, and pulled a yard of toilet paper off of the roll.

"Like this," she said and I watched as she folded the paper into a pad. She took my hand, put the pad of paper into it, leaned back, parted her knees farther, and said, her voice a little husky I thought, "Front to back."

And she was right. This was an intimacy beyond sex. At first, I barely brushed that thick hair. She giggled and said, "You have to touch honey. Hands wash."

I pressed harder then, carefully wiping front to back as she had directed, and felt a twinge in my dick when the heel of my hand suddenly felt wet where I brushed her pubic hair. I kissed her then, holding the pad against her, sharing this special moment gladly.

She stood, flushed, and kissed me, standing there in front of the toilet.

"I suppose you have class today?" she asked.

I chuckled. "Not until ten," I said, "but yes, I have class."

"Welllllllllllllll," she said, drawing out the alveolar lateral approximant "L" sound, smiling broadly and then touching my dick, "Got a third round in there?"

I laughed, caught her hand, and kissed it.

"Myra," I said, chuckling, "I'm young, healthy, and flattered." I kissed her. "But I ain't Superman."

She pouted prettily.

"Coffee at least?" she asked and I kissed her again, smiled, and said, "Oh, please, God, YES."

I enjoyed the next half hour very much. The four women I had been with before had all been, comparatively speaking, girls, and only with my wife had there been anything approaching this kind of casual nudity. I enjoyed watching Myra move around the kitchen, comfortable in her skin as they say, but also comfortable in her role.

I was just fascinated. Her breasts, recently nursed and soft, swayed softly with every movement. The little pouch of her pot belly with its deep stretch marks was sexy and her oversized labia with those pink inner lips dangling were eyeball magnets to me. Her hips showed the child she had borne and her ass was softer than Monica's and I thought there WAS a bit of a sag. That dusting or hair right where she sits only added to the allure of that good ass. Those red marks where I had slapped it gave it a little interesting color and those parallel lines down her back where I had raked my nails gave me naughty thoughts of belts or switches.

As I was watching, she seemed perfectly at ease, naked, getting the Mister Coffee machine going (Keurig machines were still a quarter-century in the future), getting two cups down from the cabinet, and turning to ask, "Cream or sugar?"

She giggled as I kept looking and then struck one of those classic pinup poses, her right arm straight up, left leg bent a little, and looking at me coyly over her shoulder.

"I'm glad," she said, coming to me and kissing me quickly before finishing her sentence, "that you like looking at me. It's flattering and I feel SO damn fat." She lifted and juggled that little pot belly. I bent forward and kissed it.

"You're beautiful, Myra," I said, meaning it, "and I LOVE looking at you."

She blushed, something I thought was particularly endearing.

We sat across her little kitchen table, drinking coffee in companionable silence for a few minutes.

"Soooooooooooooo," she said, looking across the table and meeting my eyes, clearly being serious now, "any regrets?"

"Yes," I said.

She looked a little crestfallen (and there's another one of those words you see written but never seem to use in the real world) at that. "Really?" she asked.

"Yes," I said again, but this time I went on, "I regret, very much, that we didn't join the group four months ago when we first realized what was going on."

Her smile was what you'd expect when the present under the Christmas tree was EXACTLY the right one.

I watched, wondering what would come, as she stood, pushed the light table back, covered the short distance between us, and eased to her knees before me.

"I'm pretty sure I can coax a third from you," she said and took me into her mouth.

Yes, this was fucking surreal. All I could see was the back of her head as she sucked gently, and to add to the bizarre morning, I couldn't resist taking a drink of my coffee as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

She's SO damn good with her mouth and tongue that she had me hard in a couple of minutes. But I had ejaculated twice in the past ten hours, and while my dick got hard, there was none of the stirring deep in my belly suggesting I would cum.

But she was persistent and there was no hurry. As she worked I found that I enjoyed, hell, I LOVED, watching her do the work while I just sat there, enjoying, sipping on my coffee.

What finally got to me was the sound. I'm sure she was doing it on purpose, but I could feel myself getting wetter as her saliva overflowed and then there was the sound as she slobbered and sucked, a slurping noise that got to me.

There was that pressure building in my belly and she could feel the tension as I responded to what she was doing. Her head was bobbing faster now, her lips holding me very tightly, masturbating me with her mouth.

When I came she pulled off and laid the head of my dick on her forehead. My body strained, but only a little semen came out, very thick, in a spot just above the line at the bridge of her nose. It hung there and her smile was serene, the smile of pure happiness.

I stood, kissed her, said, "Don't you dare wash your face," and turned her so she stood in front of the chair I had been using.

"Sit," I said, "Now it's my turn."

She smiled, sat, parted her knees, and used her fingertips to open herself. Her index fingers lifted her clitoral hood, showing that hard, pink, prominent bud of pleasure nestled in its thick nest of hair, while her other fingers spread her labia allowing those delicate inner lips to dangle, loose and sexy. She was wet, shiny, and silvery threads of her natural lubricants connected her lips.

I kissed her clitoris and then put little butterfly kisses around the inside of her labia where she was almost red where the skin was thin and the blood was near the surface.

Unlike me, though, her response was immediate. As I kissed my way to those dangling inner lips I could taste the salty, oily nectar and realized how completely I was hooked. She was delicious and I wanted more. When I took those inner lips into my mouth and began sucking, almost nursing at them, tasting her excitement, the product, as I later learned in my Human Anatomy and Physiology class, of the mucus membranes lining her vagina for lubrication and the Skenes and Bartholin's glands deeper in her body adding to the lubrication but also filling the air with the pheromones that ensured the reaction she wanted from a potential mate.

She surprised me when she came suddenly, filling my mouth so fast the excess ran down my chin before I could swallow. I sucked as her body shuddered with her release and held those swollen lips in my mouth as she relaxed.

When I released her she smiled and repeated what I had said earlier, "Don't you dare wash your face."

I grinned, stood, kissed her, and said, "Okay, Sluterella, now I DO need to get going."

She followed me into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed while I dressed, watching me.

When I was dressed she stood and kissed me again.

"I'm glad you said yes," she said.

"I'm glad we said yes," I said.

As I got into the car and headed home I knew down at that level below thinking that Monica and I had entered a new phase of our lives.

I looked forward to it.