Part 1 https://bit.ly/3ML3BPt Part 2 https://bit.ly/3MAOOa9 Part 3 https://bit.ly/3eyBvuh

I've been starving for this man since July. I saw him and his wife walking around a club on my birthday and found myself melting into a puddle everytime they passed.

My husband teased me for my little crush. He said I could have anyone I want, my birthday treat.

I asked around (swingers are naughty gossips). I heard a rumor they only played with single women. I was heartbroken, too shy to say hello to find out myself and be rejected. I swore she had caught my gaze and there was heat, that one time, in passing. Too bad. Instead found myself falling apart, stuffed by a sweet and sexy older man, staring up at our flesh in the mirrored ceiling while a crowd of people stared in from the motel window. He was too big. I thought I needed the ER. (I didn't, another story, a good one).

Couldn't get them out of my head.

August. Another party. I'm commiserating about the missed opportunity to another friend and I'm shocked that I get corrected and confirmation that they do play with couples. I'm kicking myself with disappointment and I look up.

They are there, here, in the flesh. Half dressed. Fucking striking. Curves and muscle and a pair of floggers draped around his neck. Lord help me. Drawing the attention of everyone and yet they're approaching us telling us the only reason they attended is because of me and my husband on the invite list and ..

I'm a fucking puddle, a bumbling mumbling mess. His dark eyes don't leave mine. Energy is there, electric, zipping, I'm hot and sweating and his cock is halfway down his leg, hard and so very thick... Eye contact is difficult to maintain with the level of intensity and my shyness but when he catches my gaze I lift my chin and stare him down.

He asks why I still have my top on. I tell him because he hasn't taken it off. Half a second of hesitation and it's torn, tossed aside. He growls, teeth against my throat. I'm arching, gasping, his flesh burning at my back, cock against my ass.

I spend the evening grappling with him on the floor, the sweat of our bodies sliding against each other, his wrist pressed into my throat, hair tangled beyond assistance. I'm a dirty, filthy mess. His wife cums when I barely touch her with my tongue. Poor thing, she has no chance at all with my husband's tongue and fingers. Later, she raises her chin and her gaze heats when I challenge her about who would top who. We exchange contact information. I'm floating, ecstatic, glowing.