Robert Thirdwall - Swap Talk

I was being fucked. As often as I had fucked various women, I had never really experienced the feeling it produced in them, the penetrated, forced feeling that I was experiencing now. I vaguely sensed Helen climaxing through the actions of Carol's able tongue. I was too engrossed in what was being done to me. I couldn't miss Chad's climax, however, for it took real strength to bear up under the last violent thrusts he aimed at my tortured ass. He withdrew, and I still had not come. The frustration and feeling of vacuity was tremendous. Almost in a frenzy I slithered up Carol's body, nipped at her deep red nipples and sank my iron hard rod inside her. Never had I fucked a woman with the force that I fucked Carol at that moment. I came off in less than a minute and brought her off, too. But the release and satisfaction were as great as if we had deliberately prolonged it for hours.

It was a good halfhour before I had recovered enough to think about going back to our room. My ass still ached when I raised my leg to put it into my swimming suit. We put on our bathrobes and, with one last torrid embrace with our opposite numbers, we went down the hall to our room.

I hesitated to talk with Helen because I was afraid of her feelings after having watched me in homosexual intercourse. Strangely enough, I felt embarrassed by the experience. To try to forget it, I took a shower, and soon Helen crowded into the stall with me. I still kept my silence, but she broke hers.

"I know you feel bad, Bob. That's how I felt, you know, at the Ungers' after that initiation." I didn't say anything. "And I know you must have really enjoyed getting screwed by Chad, since I know I love having a girl lick me out. And all I want to say is, don't feel bad because you think I disapprove. I don't think you're a fairy just because you like the feel of a prick in your ass. I know a thousand times over you're not a fairy, and I think that if you want to suck guys off or fuck them or let them fuck you, you should do it. Because I'll always love you." She put her arms around me and hugged me close in the hot driving spray. I was too moved to speak, and too happy. I really loved Helen. We finished the shower, soaping each other's genitals with accustomed thoroughness. Then we dried each other and retired to bed for a long, soft, soulful fuck and a restful sleep.

Chad and Carol were gone the next day, We never learned their last name.

But as I said before, usually if we had no contacts, Helen didn't travel with me, and that was the case when I got orders to go to Des Moines for a couple of days. I had gone to Des Moines before, and we had the name of a couple there named Riley. The Ungers had known them as swingers some years before, but they didn't know if they were still active in such matters. And when we had written them, we got no reply. Thus, I flew off to Des Moines alone with the promise of a dull couple of nights in a bar or at the movies. After the variety of healthy and straightforward sexual experiences I had had over the preceding two or three years, the notion of picking up a prostitute in a bar seemed to me unpalatable.

After one incredibly boring evening, however, I decided to look for something a little more lively. And the next night I tried ringing the Rileys on the telephone. The phone was answered by a woman with a soft, feminine voice who turned out to be Susan Riley. The domesticity of the voice didn't jibe with the Ed Unger's reference to her as a smolderinghot piece, but I pressed on and told her that I was a friend of the Ungers, in town for a day on business, and that they had asked me to call up and say hello for them.

This left the ball pretty much in her lap, which suited me fine, since I certainly didn't want to force myself on them. I thought thatССswinging asideССmany people I knew refused to swing without their spouses around. I still might get invited out for a drink and spend a pleasant evening in conversation. To my delight, she didn't just brush me off but instead said that they would like to see me if her husband could free himself from some work he was doing. I waited for her to consult him. When she returned, she asked if I wasn't the Bob Emery who wrote them while they were in Europe. I said that I was, hoping that it wouldn't screw the invitation, and she confirmed the invitation with what sounded to me like a trifle more enthusiasm.

As I sat around the lobby, waiting to be picked up, I tried to keep my mind off sex and concentrate on just spending a quiet evening. I tried to guess, as people entered the hotel, which of them was coming for me, and held my breath with trepidation every time a disagreeablelooking person made an inquiry at the desk. Yet, despite my watchfulness, I was taken completely by surprise when a voice beside me asked if I was Mr. Emery. I turned my head and affirmed my identity only to be startled almost into silence by who had asked it. I couldn't believe that the girl was old enough to drive, although I found out later she was all of fifteen and had a learner's permit. She was very slight and young with wispy blonde hair which gave her an ethereal look.

"I'm Sally Riley. Mom sent me down to pick you up."

We made small talk as we went out to the car. It was a vintage Jaguar, which impressed me. But once we got in, I suddenly felt illatease. While I was now resigned to a quiet conversational evening, I was still suffering a hangover from my earlier speculation which brought erotic thoughts to mind as soon as Sally got in. As aware as I was that high school kids were different from what they had been a decade earlier, I couldn't help being surprised at just how much leg a girl in a miniskirt crammed into the low seat of a sports car might be expected to show. I knew that a good lean forward would let me see her underpants, and I tried to restrain the temptation. But finally under the guise of adjusting my coat behind me I made the move and caught a glimpse of the alwaysthrilling soft swell between a girl's legs, this time clothed in white cotton. For the first time in many months I was embarrassed to feel my cock rising and made the traditional movements to conceal it.

In order to take my mind off her beautiful, softlooking thighs, I concentrated on how well she drove the car and asked her about her brothers and sisters. It turned out that she had a brother a year younger and that both of them had private tutors instead of public schooling, since the family traveled a lot internationally. This, fortunately, provided the opening for a conversation that carried us safely to the Riley house.

The house was large, but not the palace that acquaintance with the Ungers and Sally's accounts of European visits had led me to expect. I even felt a little disappointed, but as a residence for only half a year, I could hardly have expected more realistically. Sally took me into the living room, and again I was surprised. I had become used to swingers, and, I had supposed, exswingers, affecting a taste for the sensual and the modern. After being in a dozen rooms furnished in "functional modern," with the emphasis being on the sexual function, it was gratifying to see traditional furniture in a traditional living room setting.

I was put so much at my ease by the atmosphere, that meeting the Rileys was not at all embarrassing. I said hello to Susan without mentally stripping her, although I couldn't fail to notice that if I had stripped her, I would have liked what I imagined, and to Tom without wondering how big his prick was. I also met their son, Steven, and another couple in for the evening, Evelyn and Harry Stark. Pretty soon we were all sitting around like old friends, talking and drinking and laughing. The kids drank, too, but I chalked that up to the European travel. I told them what I knew about recent events in the Unger family, insofar as I could keep it clean, and in general I settled down for a comfortable family evening. I didn't even avail myself of a couple of chances to look up Eve's legs, although I wanted to.