Wild Wednesdays

"Mind if I join you?" asked the black man with the muscular build.

"What, you're not going to join the others?" she said. He looked toward the wide doorway that led into the back of the swing club. It was crowded with men and women whose attention was turned toward the interior of the adjacent room.

"No thanks," he said in a resonant voice. "Not my style."

The short-haired blonde turned her face to him as if seeing him for the first time. Her features were finely crafted and framed deep blue eyes. "I hear she doesn't leave any erection unsatisfied," she said with flat disinterest.

"Still not my idea of fun," he insisted.

"And what is your idea?" she asked, her mood lightening.

"Well," he said, "nothing quite so public as a blowbang."

The woman chuckled at the use of the word. "This is supposed to be a swinger's club, but these last few Wednesdays have become a circus with only one attraction. She does seem to have stamina, I'll give her that."

"Every week she seems to go for a new record. The other women have even gotten into it."

"Is she servicing them, too?"

"No, they seem to enjoy being fluffers," he observed.

"Fluffers?"

"Women who work the edge of the crowd to get the guys right on the edge of cumming. When the next guy's turn comes, he steps up ready to explode."

"So, it's a team sport."

This time he laughed. "At least a group activity. I take it your date is in there with the wankers."

"I don't have a date, but my husband is in there salivating."

"So he's just a disinterested bystander."

"That's what he'll claim, but if I asked him to take me back to one of the private rooms, he'd stall for forty-five minutes, at least."

"Recovery time?"

"Takes longer than he used to, and it'll be a weak second run."

"What an idiot!"

"I suppose that I should jump to his defense, but at the moment I'm leaning toward your point of view."

"He's fantasizing about a nympho, and he has a hot woman out here drinking wine by herself. Would you like to dance?"

The question caught her off guard. The DJ had joined the others next door, but a string of what she called rhythmic stripper tunes had been loaded into the computerized sound system. "Sure," she said.

She accepted his outstretched hand as she rose to her feet abandoning a clear plastic cup half full of chardonnay. Her temptation was to quickly adjust her clothes, but she did not want him to sense any uncertainty.

She was wearing a front zippered pinstriped corset top that boosted her smallish breasts into succulent mounds. She did pull slightly at the hem of her stretchy black mini as she rose. Her legs were bare from her red heels up to where they met at the smooth skin of her shaved mound. She had not worn anything beneath her skirt as a test to see if her clueless husband would discover her secret. To this point he had not, and his lack of curiosity was becoming a barrier to her responsiveness. As she moved forward to the dance floor with this handsome stranger, she felt a surge of lubrication that made her blush. They stepped onto the raised dance floor, a walled mirror facing them and she saw a striking couple. He was lean and muscular with narrow hips and broad shoulders; she, by comparison, pale, a small waist, and urgent of body.

The dance began with the two facing each other, and then he took her hand and twirled her halfway around and drew her into a close gyrating embrace. The move was so smooth, it seemed natural for her to curl into his arms with his pelvis against her buttocks and his arms around her.

She looked down at the mounds of her breasts. The pink aureoles surrounding her tightening nipples had risen above the cups of her corset.

"Those are very nice," he whispered into her ear.

"Do you like them?" she asked and pushed herself against his growing member that strained against her buttocks.

"Very much," he said.

She broke his hold and turned to face him and the mirror that rose behind him. In a deft motion she unzipped her top and the elasticized fabric separated giving an unobstructed view of her perky tits.

"Do you still like them?" His answer was to cup them gently in his strong hands and draw his lips down to taste their sweetness. She felt herself gasp as her own hands explored the long ridge beneath his trousers that had so distinctly pressed against her derriere while they danced.

"Could we get around that crowd?" she asked when her breath returned. The invitation was unmistakable. She wanted to go with him to one of the private rooms where couples could have sex unseen by the usual pack of voyeurs.

"Where there's a will," he offered. "I'll follow you anywhere."

She led the way through the crowd. "Excuse me," she cooed with each step as a path opened.

At one point she suddenly stopped and he bumped against her. In an instant, his hand slipped up under her skirt and between her liquid thighs. "I think you are as excited as I am," he said as she led him to the bedroom that had a full length mirror. She had liked what she had seen on the dance floor; now she wanted to see everything from all directions. The door was open, they quickly entered and shut themselves in.

The sounds drifting over the walls sounded like a cheap porno movie; a woman's voice called for more and the crowd urged the next man forward.

In the mirrored room, time moved in slow- motion. The urgency that had her pushing through the crowd had abandoned her and she, instead, savored every moment. She reopened the corset she had sealed through the journey through the crowd. His hands and lips resumed their eager exploration. She unbuttoned his shirt and moved her hands over the ebony steel pecs until she fond his tiny nipples. Their eyes met for a long count ending when their hungry mouths and tongues became furious.

Her skirt slid quickly down around her ankles, his pants were open and she knelt to meet his hefty shaft. It was too thick to encircle with her small hand, but she pulled it to her lips nonetheless.

"I know," he said. "You're going to say it's too big."

"No," she corrected, "I was going to say it's beautiful. I'll try to do it justice."

"I must admit," he said lovingly, "I've never heard that one." She managed to wrap her lips over its swollen head which emerged shining from her mouth. She stood and kissed him again, their tongues again reaching and exploring.

"I want you to fuck me," she said. The crudeness of her language excited him even more.

"I have a condom," he said reaching for his abandoned pants.

"No," she said. "This is going to be real."

He scooped her up and put her on her back, dropping his head down between her open thighs. Her first orgasm came when his tongue found her clit. Her second when he navigated his fingers though her liquid folds to her vaginal opening. She yielded completely to his touch knowing that she was being readied for a cock too big for her mouth, but not for her imagination.

Then he was over her. She felt something blunt sliding across her thighs and coming to rest against her womanhood. There was increasing pressure, mounting pressure; then a slide forward and she screamed.

For an instant the world became silent and the people in the feeding frenzy on the other side of the wall might have guessed that they were missing it all. Their attention, however, was so focused that they were soon back to their orgiastic business.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked anxiously.

"No," she gasped and wrapped her legs around him drawing him in deeper. He pulled her from the bed as if she were a doll. She saw herself in the mirror, clinging to the black stranger; rising and falling on his thick organ that disappeared deeply into her own flesh. "It's wonderful."

She was back on the bed and losing count of the paroxysms that had washed over her as she felt his penis erupting within her. Then they were kissing again, and in each other's arms exhausted.

"You are the most sexually alive woman I have ever met," he said as his diminished member slid from her still tightening pussy. "My name is DeVon, by the way."

"I'm Caitlyn."

When they had composed themselves, they left the room and circled back through the maze of the corridor. The blowbang was almost finished and there was a distinct smell of latex and chlorine in the air.

"Ever notice how cum smells like cleanser," Caitlyn said.

DeVon pulled her close. "I like the smell between your legs better." She reached between her thighs and withdrew some of the shiny wetness on her fingers.

"I like it better, too," she teased licking her digits and then kissing him lightly.

As the crowd returned, DeVon was seated at the bar and Caitlyn was at the table where her husband Paul had left her. She raised her wine cup toward him as her husband approached.

"Did she get everyone taken care of?" Caitlyn asked.

"All the ones who wanted," Staggerly answered cryptically.

"So there's hope that I might get laid yet tonight."

"Sure," he said mustering as much enthusiasm as he could. "Why don't we have a glass of wine and wait awhile. I'm sure the private rooms will be busy for a time since the excitement has died down."

"Well," offered Caitlyn, "all the testosterone that flowed out of that room really got me going. I had to take off my panties. They were soaked." He reached up under her skirt and found her dripping.

"You are turned on," he observed.

Her eyes followed DeVon who had left his seat at the bar and was moving toward the exit. He blew her a kiss and mouthed the words, "Next week?"

"Yes!" she said aloud with a nod to the black man.

Her husband didn't understand her body language so he sought some clarification, "Yes, what? Yes, you're turned on?"

"Yes, I am," she confessed. "When you're ready, I'm going to take you back there and fuck your brains out. You are going to slide into the wettest pussy you can imagine."

He seemed confused by her sudden enthusiasm. "So you thought tonight was okay?"

"Yes," she said, "it proved to be a real turn-on. Could we come next Wednesday?"

"Damn, you are the perfect wife," he said kissing her on her forehead.