Things We Tried On Ch 09

We thought we had it all figured out. Great marriage. Good sex. Comfortable, steady love. We weren't desperate. We weren't searching. We thought we were winning.

We had no idea what we were missing. That first night with Barbara and Ken didn't just open a new door for us. It blew the whole damn wall down.

Before that?

We weren't exactly vanilla -- maybe more like vanilla with a sprinkling of cinnamon. We had our favorite moves, our tried-and-true finishes.

Sometimes we'd get a little wild -- different room, different angle, a handsy quickie somewhere risky -- but for the most part? We stayed inside the lines.

After Barbara and Ken? We stopped pretending the lines even existed.

I remember one night, lying half-naked across the bed, grinning like idiots. Archie was propped on his elbow, staring down at me with this wicked gleam.

"You know," he said, dragging a finger slowly down my stomach, "we could make a list."

I raised an eyebrow. "A list?"

He smirked. "New tricks. New sins. Things to 'borrow' from Barbara and Ken."

I laughed, arching into his touch. "You're assuming we'll remember any of it after they're done with us."

"True," he said, pretending to think. "Maybe we should practice right now. Cement it in."

I slid my hand down his chest, feeling the heat jump under my fingers. "Teacher's pet," I teased.

"Only if you promise to punish me when I screw up."

We got reckless. We got bold.

One night, Archie tried something new -- something slow, dirty, patient -- and when I gasped and clutched at him, he had the nerve to pause.

"Learning is fun," he whispered against my ear.

Another night, I returned the favor, dropping to my knees and making him forget his own name. Afterward, as he lay there, dazed and wrecked, he just muttered, "Where the hell did you learn that?"

I kissed his thigh and winked. "Continuing education."

We weren't just lovers anymore. We were co-conspirators -- plotting, daring, challenging each other to push further, to be greedier, dirtier, closer.

We didn't just find new ways to touch each other. We found new ways to want each other. And the most thrilling part? We were just getting started. It's a funny thing, but it's true: Swingers are just better in bed.

It's not magic. Part of it's sheer practice, sure -- spend enough time wrapped up in different bodies and you're bound to pick up a few tricks. Part of it's that they're sexier to begin with -- more confident, more curious, more alive.

But more than that? They care.

They don't spend year after year doing the same moves with the same partner, hoping nobody notices the yawns. They stay sharp. They compare notes. They pay attention to what works, what doesn't, what makes a lover come apart in their hands.

They take pride in it, the way an artist takes pride in a perfect brushstroke. You'd be amazed what a man -- or a woman -- can learn with a little focus and a lot of very willing subjects.

Most people think sexual skill is just something you're born with. You're either "good in bed" or you're not. You either have the right curves or the right equipment or you're out of luck.

Honestly? That's the biggest lie of all.

It's not about the size of anything or the shape of anything. It's about control. It's about how long you can make it last -- or how quickly you can make it end when you want to. It's about muscle memory, instinct, confidence, and a dozen tiny techniques you learn when you're paying attention.

A flick of the wrist. A wicked twist of the tongue. A squeeze at just the right moment. That's the real magic. And swingers? They've got it down to an art form.

That summer, things with the Smiths didn't just evolve -- they erupted. What started as a once-a-week indulgence quickly grew into a twice-weekly necessity. Tuesday nights. Friday nights. Non-negotiable.

At first, we told ourselves it was about "connection," about "adventure." But by midsummer, we all knew better. Sex wasn't just an accessory to our lives anymore. It was the main event. It colored every text, every casual touch, every sideways glance across a dinner table.

One Friday, as we lounged half-dressed after dinner, Barbara leaned forward, her blouse slipping scandalously off one shoulder.

"I dare you," she said to Archie, her voice syrup-sweet, "to make her come without taking her clothes off."

The room hummed with the challenge. Archie shot me a wicked look, and I felt the air leave my lungs. "You're on," he said, smiling slow and sharp.

Another Tuesday, after a particularly frisky round of dessert before dessert, Ken grinned at me from across the kitchen island. "Next time," he said casually, "I think we blindfold you."

I laughed, a little breathless, as I leaned against the counter. "Both of us?" I teased, glancing at Barbara.

Barbara just smiled -- a slow, secret smile that promised trouble. "Oh, darling," she said, "you'll beg for it."

We played. We dared. We learned. New games. New rules. New parts of ourselves we hadn't even known were there, just waiting for the right spark.

By the time August blazed into September, the four of us were tethered together by something electric -- something sticky-sweet and impossible to shake.

We didn't just look forward to Tuesdays and Fridays. We ached for them. Every touch during the week -- brushing fingers, a sly smile across a meeting table, a suggestive emoji pinging our phones -- was just foreplay for what was coming.

Sex had become the heartbeat of our little world. And we didn't want it any other way.

But somewhere between the teasing dares and the tangled bodies, something shifted. A look that lingered too long. A kiss that was just a little too tender. A hand that didn't want to let go.

It wasn't just about the games anymore. Not really. Something warmer, heavier, and infinitely more dangerous had started to slip between us -- soft as a sigh, sharp as a blade.

And none of us, it seemed, were in any hurry to stop it. The change in our relationship didn't hit like a thunderclap. It was slower, sneakier -- like a hand slipping under the covers in the dark.

You have to remember: all four of us were still pretty green. Sure, Barbara and Ken had swung before, but only in the most basic sense -- trading partners, disappearing into separate rooms for an hour or two of fun, then reemerging flushed and tidy, like nothing had happened.

"We used to be so... civilized," Barbara teased one night, dragging her nails lightly down Ken's chest as he grinned. "Separate rooms, no peeking, no touching, no trouble."

Ken laughed, tossing back a shot of whiskey. "We even knocked before coming out."

"But you knew," Archie said, leaning in with that hungry gleam he got after a drink or two, "that other people... did more."

"Oh, honey," Barbara purred, her voice low and wicked, "they do so much more." She let the words hang there, sweet and sticky, daring us to lean closer.

I swallowed, my cheeks hot, my heart hammering against my ribs. "And what," I managed to ask, voice half-choked with curiosity, "exactly do they do?"

Ken smirked, shifting closer until his knee brushed mine under the table. "You'll find out," he said, his voice a promise wrapped in smoke and heat. "When you're ready."

We thought we were ready. We wanted to be ready.

That was the night something changed -- a door cracked open, just wide enough to glimpse the real games waiting on the other side. And we were already stepping through it... one touch, one kiss, one filthy, delicious secret at a time.

That was the wild part, really. We knew that, by hard-core swinger standards, what we were doing was still pretty tame. We'd heard the stories -- threesomes, foursomes, whole groups tangled up together in the same room, moaning and laughing and not caring who saw what.

And honestly? All four of us kind of wanted it. We were just too shy -- or maybe too polite -- to say it out loud.

It was like one of those "square" parties you hear about, where everyone's secretly dying to swap partners, but nobody's brave enough to make the first move. So nothing ever happens. Everyone just smiles, sips their drinks, and goes home a little too sober and a lot too frustrated.

For us, it started... small. Timid little steps.

Looking back, it feels almost childish -- the way we'd dip a toe in and then glance around to make sure nobody looked scandalized.

First came the conversations -- the safe, teasing sort of talk that pushed at the edges without quite breaking them.

I remember one Friday night -- we were at our place or theirs, it hardly matters -- lounging around, laughing, playing our usual little games of almost-daring.

Ken suddenly stretched out like a lazy cat and said, "God, I'm starving. I think I'm gonna have to give you the frenching of your life, darling."

I laughed and shot right back, "Good thing you've had so much tongue training."

Barbara snorted into her wineglass. Archie just raised his eyebrows in that way he does when he's trying very hard not to look too interested.

Ken leaned over toward me with a wicked grin. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

I shrugged, pretending nonchalance, feeling my whole body buzz. "Practice makes perfect, right?"

Then I caught Barbara's eye across the room -- she was grinning too, but there was a gleam there, something sharper. It wasn't just teasing anymore. Not really.

The "frenching" was just the appetizer. By the time we got up off that couch, we were all way past hungry -- and nobody needed permission to feast.

That night broke something between us -- something we hadn't even realized was holding us back.

After that, we started talking openly about everything -- what we intended to do, what we'd already done, what we still dreamed about.

It made everything tighter, more charged between us. Funny, isn't it?

You'd think that four people swapping lovers would already be the most intimate thing possible. But even then, there are layers. Walls you don't even realize you've built... until they start to come down.

It wasn't long before we finally made love all together -- in the same room. No doors closed. No safe little separations.

"God," I said later, tracing lazy circles on your chest, "do you remember the first time we did it?"

You smiled in that slow, wicked way you have. "Naturally. It's burned into my brain."

It's funny how much we all wanted it -- but nobody could quite bring themselves to be the first to say it. Let's face it -- a lot of the pleasure in swinging is watching, being watched. We just needed a little push.

And it happened so simply.

We were at their place that night -- curled up in their big den, a bottle of wine mostly emptied, the air soft and heavy. Barbara had kicked her heels off hours ago, and Ken's shirt was hanging loose at the collar. Everyone was relaxed. Loose. Buzzed just enough to let the words slip out.

I laughed suddenly, stretching my legs across Ken's lap, and said, "Honestly, it's silly to keep splitting up. I'd love to watch you with him sometime."

I meant it as a tease. Kind of. Maybe not.

Ken's hand settled casually on my ankle, his thumb brushing the delicate skin there. And Barbara, sipping her wine, gave me this sly little look over the rim of her glass. "I wouldn't mind the view either," she murmured.

The words hung there -- charged, daring -- until we were all just looking at each other. Smiling. Flushed. Breathing just a little too fast.

The next move was almost involuntary. You reached for Barbara, pulled her close for a kiss that deepened faster than either of them planned.

Ken leaned towards me, our bodies drawn to each other like two magnets, finally giving in to the struggle.

Clothes started slipping away -- not all at once, but in these delicious, teasing stages. A shirt unbuttoned here, a strap slid down a bare shoulder there. Touches got bolder. Kisses got wetter. By the time we were all naked, tangled up together, there was no space left between any of us.

No more jokes. No more walls. Just four hungry, laughing, panting bodies discovering how very good it felt to stop pretending.

The lights were low, the music slow and throbbing, and we were wrapped around each other, swaying more than really dancing. It wasn't dancing, not really -- it was vertical petting, and it got hotter every time we switched partners.

It was Ken who broke the first barrier. He pulled back from Barbara, tugged his shirt loose from his waistband, and yanked it over his head with a grin.

"Too damn warm in here," he said, tossing the shirt onto a nearby chair. His chest gleamed in the dim light. "And I don't see any good reason to suffer."

We all laughed, but it wasn't nervous laughter. We knew what we were building toward. It was in the air -- thick, sweet, electric.

The thought that flashed through my mind was "Strip Poker." Only we didn't need cards tonight.

We slid back together, bodies pressing close, breath getting shallower.

Ken found me again and pulled me into his arms. His hands roamed lower this time, slipping up under the hem of my skirt. When his fingers grazed bare thigh, I damn near melted.

"Mmm," he whispered against my ear, "you're dangerous tonight."

I laughed, breathless, and pushed him away -- gently but firmly. "Fine," I teased, reaching for the buttons of my blouse, "if it's that kind of party, then I'm warm too."

I undid the blouse slowly, feeling all three pairs of eyes on me, savoring it, drawing it out. Off came the blouse... and then, heart pounding, I slipped out of my bra too.

Now it was just me -- bare from the waist up -- daring them to look, daring you to react.

The air was charged, thick with the musky scent of arousal. Ken stepped back in, his hands sliding around my naked waist, and we started moving again to the music.

Dancing -- grinding, really -- skin to skin, heat to heat.

You, across the room with Barbara, caught my eye. Your lips parted, your pupils blown wide with lust, and I knew then -- we were all going to lose ourselves tonight.

Naturally, one thing led to another.

Archie peeled off his shirt with a casual shrug, baring that broad chest I loved. Barbara, never one to be outdone, gave us all a wicked little smile and made a real show of it -- first her blouse, then her bra... then, with a teasing wiggle of her hips, her skirt and panties puddled around her ankles.

"Well," she purred, stepping out of the pile of clothes, "if we're shedding skins tonight, let's not be shy."

The air practically sizzled. In no time at all, the rest of us followed suit, stripping away every last stitch until all four of us stood there -- completely naked, flushed, grinning, breathing hard.

The excitement was insane -- raw, animal, delicious. Archie caught Barbara up in his arms, her bare skin sliding against his, and with just a slight bend of his knees, he was inside her. Just like that -- standing, rocking together slowly, beautifully.

Over her shoulder, Archie's eyes locked with mine, dark and wild. I shivered, feeling Ken's hands gripping my hips tighter.

Without even thinking about it, driven by something hot and reckless inside me, I laughed low in my throat and called out: "Watch me, all of you."

Then I dropped to my knees right there on the carpet, reached up, and took Ken's hard penis into my mouth.

There was a sharp intake of breath -- from Ken, from Archie, maybe even from Barbara -- and the room practically exploded with raw energy.

I wanted it. I wanted to be watched, to be seen doing it, to own the moment.

Ken groaned, his fingers tangling in my hair, his hips jerking reflexively as I teased him with my mouth.

And that... that just tore the lid right off everything.

After that, it was madness. There was no more switching partners or taking turns -- no structure at all. We rolled across the floor, tangling together, skin against skin, mouths and hands and heat everywhere. Fucking and laughing and moaning, bodies slick and hungry, lost completely in each other.

We never separated that night. We just kept going -- screwing like wild things, giving ourselves up over and over -- until the night itself surrendered to us.

At some point, the frenzy softened, the urgent crashing of bodies easing into something slower, something achingly tender. We ended up tangled together on the floor -- bodies overheated, skin flushed and sticky, breathing coming in long, shuddering pulls.

I remember lying there on my back, my head resting on Archie's thigh, Ken's hand lazily stroking my stomach in slow, hypnotic circles.

Barbara was sprawled across Archie's chest, her leg thrown possessively over his hip, smiling a dreamy, satisfied smile.

"God," Barbara whispered, her voice so soft it barely stirred the air. "I can't feel where I end and you all begin."

Archie chuckled low and ran his fingers through her hair. "I don't think you're supposed to," he murmured.

Ken bent and kissed the inside of my wrist, and I turned my head to catch his eye. He looked so raw, so open, it almost made me ache.

"Round two?" I teased, letting my fingers drift down his stomach toward the inevitable.

Ken's mouth curved into a lazy grin. "Round three, at least."

Barbara laughed and shifted her hips slightly -- and Archie, groaning, responded without even thinking. Watching them, feeling the heat coil low inside me again, I rolled onto my side and pressed my body against Ken's.

We didn't even have to talk anymore. Hands slid where they wanted. Mouths found what they craved. The soft gasps and hungry sighs filled the dim room like music.

And just like that, the fire sparked again. Slower this time, deeper -- like we were savoring every inch, every sound, every shared shudder. No more walls. No more lines. Just a slow, delicious drowning in each other.

I can still picture it -- every shameless, filthy second of it -- burned into my memory like a brand. The way it thrilled me, the way it unlocked something reckless inside me. And even then, tangled in sweat and skin, I knew: This is just the beginning. I want it all.

We found our rhythm fast, like we'd been waiting all our lives to stumble into it. And once we started slipping past boundaries, there was no slowing down.

"You realize we're becoming complete degenerates, right?" Ken joked one night, his fingers lazily tracing circles over my bare thigh.

Barbara snickered from across the room, where she was half-straddling Archie. "Becoming? Honey, that ship sailed a long time ago."

I grinned, shameless. "And it feels so good being bad," I purred, stretching like a satisfied cat.

Archie gave a low laugh, his hands busy teasing Barbara's hips. "First we swapped. Then we shared a room. Next thing you know, we'll be daring each other to see who can be the loudest."

Barbara shot him a wicked look over her shoulder. "I don't know, babe. I think I already won that round tonight."

We all laughed, flushed and happy, the air between us thick with lazy, lingering desire.

Looking back, it was inevitable. Once you start breaking society's little rules, you realize they're only paper-thin anyway. You tear through one, and then you see -- God, there are so many more to destroy.

And every broken rule is a new kind of pleasure waiting to be claimed. The danger, the novelty, the raw, shameless rush of it... We didn't just want it. We needed it.

And we were only just getting started. It didn't take long before our little teasing turned into a full-blown game.

One Friday night, sprawled out naked on the living room carpet, the four of us tangled in a lazy, sweaty heap, Ken raised an eyebrow and said, "You know... if we're really degenerates now, we ought to have rules."

Barbara laughed, breathless, and flicked a playful finger at his chest. "Rules? For breaking rules?"