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Deb and I write our stories together. Her memory is better than mine, and I put the words ‘on paper’. This narrative has elements of our real life experiences, liberally spiced with fantasy. You might be able to guess which is which.
Because of Deb’s and my true-life experiences, this was a very difficult story to write and Debbie did not want any part of this project at first. You’ll see why at the end.
This story could easily have gone in the Loving Wives or the Group Sex categories. But I’ve placed it in the Incest/Taboo category because the incest, past and current, was at the heart of these events. The story gets progressively more hardcore.
In our fantasy world there are no STDs, but in the real world one should take appropriate precautions. All characters are (well) over the age of eighteen.
Many thanks to ontheroadforever and my German friend for editing help.
I hate happy hours. They’re noisy, crowded, and filled with the kind of office workers I prefer to get away from after leaving the office. As a senior manager I need to occasionally accept my team’s invitation to join them on Friday evenings, so I deliberately arrived half an hour late and walked straight up to the bar.
“What can I get ya?” asked the flustered barman.
“O’Doul’s, please. In a glass, not a bottle.” He gave me a knowing smile and poured the tasteless non-alcoholic beer. Glass in hand, I joined my team and to all appearances I was drinking with them. My admin assistant once told me that I was considered to be the only cool boss in the company because the other managers at my level either abstained completely, or they attended every happy hour and dominated the events.
There were fifteen of us around the table, and after listening to twenty minutes of inane office gossip I felt a slap on my back, and heard a slurred “Wassup, dude?” behind me.
“Dave, good to see you!” I turned back to my team and said “Hey, guys, will you excuse me for a few minutes? Seems the finance department needs our help again.” There was mild laughter from my IT team, and I quickly stood, and he pointed at the only empty booth in the place. Dave was the Financial Director, a manager at the same level as me. And he was my brother-in-law.
“Where’s your team?” I asked, assuming he’d also been invited to happy hour.
“They left. It’s month-end and most of them have to work tomorrow.” Dave was obviously several drinks into the evening, and was unsteady on his legs as we approached the table.
“How’s Maureen?” I asked as we sat. He looked down, didn’t answer. Dave’s wife and my wife, Debbie, were twins. In appearance, and judged by their very close relationship, they were typical identical twins. They had an almost telepathic communication and I always had the impression that they shared dark secrets.
Yet the two were so very different in other ways that it was hard to imagine them growing up in the same home. Debbie was the epitome of an upper class breeding – yet it always puzzled me that Maureen had gone off the rails in her youth, picked up bad habits and worse men, and only cleaned up her act when she and Deb were in college together.
The fact that Dave and I worked together was sheer coincidence. Five years ago his company had acquired the firm I worked for. “Everything okay with you guys?” I signaled to a server and ordered a single malt for myself, and a Fat Tire for Dave.
He took a deep swig from the bottle and looked around the bar. “Fuckin’ busy tonight! And Jesus, does everyone talk at the same time? Fuckin’ loud in here!”
I was concerned by his deflection. Was something wrong with his wife? “Dave, is Maureen okay? What’s going on?”
“Problems in the-in-” he hesitated. I’d unwittingly touched a nerve. “Ah, fuck it, Neil – we’re having bedroom problems!” He practically blurted it out. “I dunno – It’s the work pressure, you know?” he waved his hand in the direction of our office building. “She’s as horny as a fuckin’ teenager, but with work pressure and late hours and…God knows I’m not in the best shape. I dunno. I just never have the time or the energy or the interest. Jesus, I shouldn’t be telling you all this.”
“It’s okay, bud. My lips are sealed.” I watched the ice cubes as I swirled my single malt. He drew a few deep breaths, took a swig of beer, and carried on.
“I have to give her credit – she’s been really patient and she’s tried everything. Maybe I need a testosterone shot. Or Viagra. Or just a vacation. You remember ‘vacations’?” He made quotation marks in the air. “Maureen’s even suggested we try that new club that’s sprung up across the river. You know the one? Near that fancy championship golf course.”
“Er-no, I don’t know it. What club is that?” In the northern Virginia suburbs surrounding Washington, DC, “downtown” means in DC and “across the river” means Maryland.
Dave laughed. “Fuck, Neil, everyone’s talking about it. But you always were the straight arrow, weren’t you? It’s a couples-only club, if ya know wha’ I mean”. He had a lecherous expression. I still escort ataşehir didn’t know anything about this club, though I was very intrigued.
It was obvious that I’d be driving Dave home tonight, so I signaled for another Fat Tire for him. “Tell me about this place.”
“Well I heard about it, then Maureen researched it online. Though I think she gets more from her book club than from Google,” he laughed. “Fuckin’ book club – all they do is drink wine and eat chocolate and talk shit about their husbands!” Another belly laugh. “This place—it’s only for couples over 30, and it’s where you go for-“. He hesitated as the server brought his drink, and when she left he leaned over conspiratorially and said what he thought was a whisper “It’s a fuckin’ wife swapping club!”
“What? In this area? Nonsense!”
“Not this area. It’s across the river,” he corrected me. “Hah – ya think those Maryland people are all highbrow goodie goodies, like you an’ Deb? Hah! It’s a goddam swingers club, dude, an’ it’s less than half an hour from your house! Expensive as hell and they screen you before you’re allowed to join, but so help me God, it’s a swinger’s club right there in Mary-fucking-land!”
“What’s the club called, Dave? And where is it? What does it cost? How often do they…” I stopped before he picked up on my sudden interest.
“Dream Catchers Dance and Social Club,” he said. “It’s in one of those huge houses that that backs onto the golf course. I jus’ heard that it’s expensive. Anyway, Maureen thought that if we went there it would help me, you know, get a bit more interested in stuff in the bedroom.” He emptied the bottle. That was all I was going to get out of Dave, but I made a mental note of the club’s name. It should be easy to research. My mind was wandering. Debbie and I had often speculated about the swinger lifestyle, and we’d always chickened out.
“I tell you, Neil, it’s this damned company that’s doing it to me. It’s ruining my marriage! Do you have any idea what shit we have to put up with during the financial year end? And that IRS audit earlier this year. Christ, that almost killed me. And it killed my sex life! And that bitch of a CFO—I swear, she slept her way into that job.”
He rambled about corporate issues, the tough life of a financial expert, the unfairness of the tax laws, and occasionally threw in a reminder that those elements had conspired to drive a wedge down the middle of his and Maureen’s marriage bed. He went on for a half hour and two more Fat Tires, but my mind was somewhere else.
Debbie and I had been married for twenty years. We were the model DINK couple, double income no kids. We were both business professionals. She was a marketing executive with an advertising agency, and I was the IT director for the mid-sized corporation Dave and I worked for. We didn’t draw an enormous income but ours was a decent home in an upscale neighborhood, and we paid our bills and taxes on time. The only thing missing was a white picket fence.
She and I were sexually compatible, though our day-to-day bedroom life was frankly quite boring except for one saving grace. For as long as we’ve been together we’ve had a tendency to do something crazy and out of character every few months. It would usually be a spontaneous escapade, often after a few drinks. Although we’re straight-laced and socially conservative, we had collected several exciting and very sexy experiences over the years.
Dave carried on about the company’s problems while I drove him home. “Tell Maureen that Deb and I send our love”, I told him as we pulled into his driveway.
“Yeah. Hey, Neil,” he was about to open the door, but looked at me with eyes that were remarkably clear considering his condition. “You know what I said about me an’ Maureen?”
“Don’t worry, bud. I didn’t hear a word.” I did the classic zipped lips motion.
“Thanks, dude. Take it easy,” and he stumbled up the stairs to his front door.
It was almost eleven when I got home, and Deb had left dinner in the warming drawer. She came down while I ate, nude, as always. We chatted about work and the upcoming weekend and other trivialities, but I said nothing about Dave and Maureen’s problems.
“Tough time at work?” She asked. I nodded, and she put her hand over mine. “Want to go upstairs?” ‘Go upstairs’ was Deb-speak and it was her way of initiating sex.
We left the lights on and slipped between the sheets, and her hand immediately went for my cock. She had never been big on foreplay. It took a while to warm up, but she knew exactly where to put her fingers.
As soon as she felt my member stirring to life she moved her head down and licked the tip, and the feeling was electric. I stiffened almost instantly and she parted her lips, her tongue flicking across the corona, just below the head. It was so sensitive that I soon had to pull away. I pushed her gently on her back. She parted her knees, and I positioned myself over her. I rubbed the tip of my cock against her wet pussy lips and she gasped as it slipped over her clit, which was peeking out from its hood. I kadıköy escort bayan kissed her deeply as I slipped my cock up and down for a minute, slowly sliding almost down to her ass, then sensuously back up again, pausing to caress her clit, then down again. Her breath was ragged, her tongue was agile, she was moaning softly.
I slid the head of my cock into her pussy, held it there for a bit, and pushed, slowly, until I was balls deep. I looked into her eyes as we fell into an unhurried rhythm of deep, deliberate strokes. She wrapped her arms around my neck and looked deep into my eyes. Her shallow breaths were in synch with our rhythm, and she mouthed “love you,” then pulled me down for another deep kiss. This was making love, not just having sex. The inevitable happened too soon and I couldn’t hold it any longer. Every nerve in my body seemed to end in my shaft and I could feel the cum coursing up the length and into Deb’s warm depths.
She reached for a few tissues and we fell into the second half of our routine – which is Deb masturbating to a climax. She’s never been able to come with me inside her, but she’s quite happy to use my cum as a lubricant and rub her clit in quick circles while I kiss her and suck her nipples and massage her labia.
I know that while Deb diddles she conjures up the most incredible fantasies. Her mind goes wild, and some of her mental images are so extreme that she won’t describe them to me. It’s when she’s at her nastiest, and I wish I could get into her mind. Sometimes, though, she likes me to tell her a story or recall one of our sexual experiences in explicit detail.
Tonight, I took a different tack.
“Imagine yourself at a swinger’s club,” I suggested as I slipped my thumb into her pussy, then slid my index finger down to her ass and massaged her rosebud. “There’s a room full of people and they’re all naked. You’re the new club member, and as your initiation, all the guys have to fuck you, and their wives all have to lick you. “
She gasped at that. Her eyes were closed tight in concentration and her pace quickened, so I knew this was getting to her.
“I’m there with you,” I said, sucking a sensitive nipple between sentences. “As each guy comes up, he’s holding his cock and aiming it at your pussy.” Another lick and a nibble. Debbie’s breasts are super sensitive when she’s turned on. “And as they move closer to you, I hold your pussy lips open for them…”
Her breathing was faster and shallower now. She was getting close. “There’s a new club just across the river, you know, and I’m taking you there. You’ll see cocks in pussies, you’ll see women swallowing the semen of random men they don’t know. You’ll see women fucking two, three, and four guys, sometimes at the same time. And I’ll be holding you open so random guys can just walk up and push-“
“Ah – AH!”. Deb can be a screamer, but there was no one to hear. “Oh JEEEZUZ,” she yelled. Her back arched but I kept my thumb in her, and let my finger slip into her rectum. “OH – oh – Jeeez!”
Watching Deb coming is one of my life’s greatest pleasures, and this orgasm was one of the biggest I’d witnessed in a few months.
“Oh God,” she exclaimed as the shaking stopped. Her body collapsed and she lay limp, spent. “Oh shit – fuck!” Deb never swears as a rule, but there are no rules in bed and she can cuss like a sailor. The contrast between her perfect everyday demeanor and her lewd behavior in the bedroom is just one more way she turns me on.
I licked the pussy juice from the finger she’d used to masturbate as she caught her breath. “What was that about a club somewhere here? You made that up, right?”
Bingo-I had her interest. Since we met in our early twenties, neither Deb nor I had ever touched another person. We took our vows seriously. We fantasized often, we even did a bit of role play from time to time, but in real life it was hands-off. But the idea of wife swapping had often come up in our sex talk and I knew Deb was intrigued by the idea. But would she ever do anything about it?
“I heard there’s one only half an hour away. The guys were talking about it at the happy hour.” I didn’t say that I’d heard about it from Dave, and I wouldn’t mention his and Maureen’s bedroom problems. “I hear it’s expensive, and they’re very selective about their membership.”
“I think I’ve heard about it,” she said. Yes, I thought, at the book club. “You aren’t seriously thinking about going there, are you?”
“Well, it might be interesting to look into it—see what it’s all about, what goes on there, and so on-“
“Oh hell, no!” She sat up. “Neil, fantasizing is one thing – but actually going to one of these places? I made a vow to you, and you made one to me-“
“Okay, hon,” I chuckled. “I’m not going to sell you to slave traders, or dump you in a harem or anything! I was just mildly curious. And how much would it strain our vows if we just went for a look-see?”
“I don’t know-,” she paused. “How would you feel if your boss was there? Or if the neighbors found out? Or what if one of us likes it and the other doesn’t? escort bostancı No, Neil, just … no.”
After more than two decades of a very close marriage, I’d come to know Debbie pretty well. No sometimes meant absolutely never, and no sometimes meant maybe with a little persuasion. I might have to work hard on this one, but it looked like a possibility. We fell asleep with me spooning her from behind, and my hand cradling her breast.
* * * * *
Work was rough that week. I didn’t see Dave except in a weekly steering committee meeting. I got home late most nights, and the ever patient Deb took it in stride when I collapsed in bed and went straight to sleep. But I’d managed to steal half an hour to search for the “Dream Catchers Dance and Social Club” on the Internet, and their web page was impressive. Membership was expensive. Only married couples were accepted, no one under the age of thirty, and the club reserved the right to conduct background checks on prospective members. Drugs and excessive alcohol were forbidden, and no cameras of any sort were allowed on the premises – no exceptions.
The next Friday night I got out of the office at a reasonable hour. After battling the second worst traffic pattern in the nation, I rolled home and took Deb out to her favorite sushi restaurant. I’m not a raw fish fan, but Deb has always joked that sushi is supposed to have aphrodisiac qualities. I don’t believe that for a minute, but always go along with the idea, and we usually have a good time after sushi.
Tonight was the same. Deb was more passionate tonight than usual. It was a wham-bam-thank you ma’am session. I came within minutes, and as Deb lay back diddling her clit, she closed her eyes and asked “Did you find any more information about that club?”
“I did, and you’ll love it,” I said. No reaction.
“Most of the members are our age or older.” She said nothing, kept diddling.
I pushed my luck with “It’s expensive, but we can afford it. And we don’t know anyone from that area.”
“Good,” she replied. I sucked her nipple and stroked her labia and she came in an instant.
I wondered if I’d hit the jackpot, or if Debbie was just fantasizing again. I’d wanted to do this for years. My position was that love and sex are completely different, and if we give each other permission to do something unconventional, that is not a violation of our vows. She was a bit more conservative about it but as our fantasies became more adventurous over the years I’d sensed a softening in her position.
Sex usually puts me to sleep but leaves her wide awake, but in a reversal of roles, Deb drifted off to sleep and I lay awake pondering the possibilities. Membership of Dream Catchers was an eye watering $5,000, and depending on the nature of the event, each “party night” cost about an additional $1,000.
Like many red blooded American males I’d frequently visualized my wife being fucked by other men. Just the thought of it was a huge turn on. But how would I feel in real life? Would I fly into a jealous rage? How would I react to seeing some middle-aged schlub with a big belly and pimples on his ass porking my beautiful wife? Would I be disgusted or turned on? Or worst of all, would I be disappointed? In Deb, or in myself?
I would never do anything to destroy my marriage—but was I planning to do exactly that right now? I’d done a bit of reading on “the lifestyle” as swingers like to call it, and they all claim that it’s done wonders for their marriage. But how many couples had it split up? Of all the people who had tried swapping, how many loved it, and how many actually hated it?
By two in the morning I’d weighed the pros and cons and decided that I wanted to do this. I called the club the next day to inquire about membership. I had to meet the club’s management for an appointment before I could even apply, so I set it up for Monday, after work. The rest of the weekend went by at a snail’s pace.
Close to the border between Maryland and Washington, DC, there’s an impressive and expensive country club with a golf course that constantly ranks in the top hundred in the nation. Some of the houses that surround it are huge architectural marvels, and after following my GPS to number 1749, all I could see was a big gateway. I went down a tree lined driveway that wound across the estate for probably a hundred yards and pulled up to an elegant French Tudor home with a pool pavilion to the left side and a tennis court to the right. A fairway and a greenside bunker were visible in the distance, through the trees.
Above the front door I saw three ornamental Native American dreamcatchers. I was in the right place.
The door opened before I could knock. “You must be Neil?” She was an elegant fifty-something, with long wavy gray hair and a figure that would be impressive on most twenty-somethings. “I’m Mary. Come and meet Stu.” The entrance hall was huge, the furnishings were tasteful. Stuart was in the living room. He was a big man in his late fifties with a mane of silver hair and a build that must have come from endless hours in the gym. My feet sank into the plush carpet and the sunlight that streamed through the expansive picture window filled the room with a warm glow. The place felt more like a movie set than a home, and I could imagine characters from ‘The Great Gatsby’ lounging around.
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