When a Plan Falls Apart
Mary the Wollstonecraft Woman
©
Copyright 2023 by Mary the Wollstonecraft Woman
This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote a lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.
When a Plan Falls Apart
Christy, my wife, and I took a trip last weekend to the coast. Los Angeles was hot and dry, and a wicked wind blew down from the mountains, putting my nerves on a raw edge. Even at night, the Santa Anna wind blew through, adding the oppressive heat.
My wife didn't notice the heat, her own body heat was hotter than the wind. She always ran warm, about 99.9 or 100 degrees. And it wasn't a fever, not from illness, at least. No, her fire, sparked by her natural lust, is always there. For years Christy made no secret she wanted us to try swinging. Me, I had only a passing interest in the idea.
Her continuous harping, pestering, nagging, whatever you want to call it, caused me to weaken on the idea. I haven't an idea where she found it, but she had this sex newspaper. The fuck rag advertised a bash open to members and nonmembers alike at a local swing club. Also, it said, "single men and women are welcome at the party."
If I'm honest, I can't keep up with my wife, and the thought of watching her fucking another man while I fuck his wife sparked my imagination. With this said, I had reservations about opening this door to our relationship.
We'd only been married a year. I'm 24 years old, and Christy was 21. We had a lot of years ahead of us. This swinging thing, well, it would be a leap, not a step. Still, she so wanted to try it, and maybe it would be what she hoped for.
"Can we please go there?" Christy looked at me with her big, bright blue eyes. "We'll just do a soft swing, no fucking just oral. Please?"
"Okay," I said, as my cock reacted positively. How my wife had stayed a virgin until I fucked her on our honeymoon, shit fire, I don't know. In fact, that is the great mystery of my wife. In the back of my mind, a pestering thought perturbed me: This might be a mistake.
My desires were twofold, to give her what she wanted, and hopefully, she'd realize she didn't want this after all. The moment we walked into the club, I thought maybe, just maybe, my plan would work. The joint, packed to the rafters, gave off a cheap vibe. Freakish folks crowded into the main room. Women and men in leather, massive amounts of makeup caked on the guys' and gals' faces, intermixed with more normal-looking couples, and tons of single men drifting about.
I felt uneasy, excited, and terrified at the same time. Being we're both short, me 5 feet 5, and her not quite 5 feet tall, I felt threatened in some undefined way. That isn't to say there weren't shorter people, but most, especially the men, stood tall. Women over five foot seven, men well above six feet. And there were the black men, tall, brawny fellers with muscles and massive bulges in their trousers.
Christy always told me she'd never want a cock bigger than mine. "Four inches is a perfect fit," she said. So I felt confident she'd reject any of these men. Besides, only one couple was black, and the rest of the Negros were single, rough-looking men.
The black woman approached us. "Hey, I'm Tidye. Jamil, my husband, and I would love to be with y'all in a room we booked. Let me make it clear, just you and me," Tidye said to my wife.
"Oh, I'd love to try that," Christy said. Turning to me, she turned on the teasing charm. "Please, baby doll, let me try lesbian?"
"Well, yeah, that sounds fine, but what will Jamil and I do?" I asked.
The woman held her hand up, wrapped her fingers like she held a cock, and pumped her fist. "Jacky and her sisters can be your friends. If you know what I mean."
Of course, I understood her meaning. Still, her husband was a giant with the biggest pants bulges I ever saw. I wanted to deny my wife this, but couldn't find any reason. We'd agreed to a soft swap, and what would be better than her with a woman and the husband and me jacking. Though I worried about my cock being compared to his by Christy.
Then again, my wife had always claimed my cock was a perfect size. So, what should I worry about? Off the top of my head, the man was twice my size, height and weight wise, and the more than impressive bulge told him at least two times larger than me there, too.
He walked up to us, tall, dark, handsome, with a touch of darkness not associated with his skin color. The mischievous darkness women find appealing. Stretching out his right hand, he took mine, covering it, and I winced. Not from pain, but fear of what those oversized paws might do to me.
"Sorry, man, didn't realize I squeezed so hard," he said while releasing his hold. "I'm Jamil."
"It's okay. I'm Richard," I said.
"You're okay, Rickie," he said.
The way he said it took me back. I was sure he'd used it as a putdown. However, as it was my niece's name, I might be sensitive to its use for me. Jamil led the way, pulling a key card from his shirt pocket. We went up a flight of stairs and to the far back of the building. He pushed the card into a slot, the light on the door went from red to green, a buzz emitted from the door lock, and Jamil pushed the door open.
Taking my right bicep in his left hand, he guided me into the room. His hand moved to my shoulder, still heading me to a small bed across from a king-sized bed. He turned me toward the bed, and I followed his lead. He turned me again, with a tug and twitch of my shoulder, and sat me on the bed. Again, I did what he wanted. A strange churning rumbled silently through my belly as he talked to me.
"You're alright, Rickie," he repeated himself from before. "Letting my wife and your wife have fun. Lots of boys don't allow this, you know." He stared at me, and his gaze was intense, like he looked inside me.
"Well, it's just a soft swap. What harm can come from that?"
"Your hair, long like it is, really sets your face off. Blonde hair and tanned skin go well together. Yeah, your long hair really shows off how... handsome you are." He lifted his eyebrows three quick times when he said, 'handsome.'
The wives were kissing and undressing each other, but he didn't take his dark eyes off me. As he continued to speak, agitation pestered my mind, shaking my confidence in myself and my projected image.
"If I'm truthful, you're not handsome so much, as lovely," he said as his big mitt left hand moved from my right shoulder across my neck, brushing my long hair as it passed under it to my right shoulder.
"And your hands, oh, baby, you got sweet sexy hands. Long, slender, girlish fingers. They look soft too. Gonna feel incredible on my prick."
"I ain't that way. My wife likes me to wear my hair this way," I insisted in a faltering voice. Trying to move away, he camped his long, large fingers on the front of my shoulder and his giant thumb on the back and squeezed.
