Bromfield's Temptations Ch. 04

"Jim, darling, this is Steve Rollins. His other half, Carol, is in there somewhere." She waved toward the mattress room while Steve and I shook hands.

"We saw part of your ride in there," he gestured with his other hand, "and I must say you show good form, if not good sense." His grin took any sting out of his remark.

"She's lively," I said dryly. Her siren-like orgasmic scream again filled the room.

"Jim, Steve and Carol are having a party next week. They wanted to know if we could come."

"Sure, I guess so, if it's all right with you," I said. I grinned at Steve. "I think something may have been jarred loose. I can't seem to focus quite yet."

He laughed. "When we get ready to leave, we'll dig out our address and directions. We live in the country. Plan to stay the night. Stay two nights, if you like. Some people probably will."

That sounded promising. Bette and Steve, arms around each other, drifted off toward the mattress room.

I was so drained that I merely sat, nursing my drink, thinking about life, when a woman's voice said, "The light's on. Is anybody home?"

I looked up. It was the young woman I had seen in the dining room wearing the man's shirt.

"Oh, hi," I said, not very originally.

"I saw your performance in there." She shook her head. "Pitiful."

I realized she was ragging me, but I rose to the bait like a trout to a fly. "Don't you have to be of age to get in here?" I asked.

She grinned. "Nice shot, grandpa. Actually, I'm a 12 year-old hooker and I'm fucking my way through school. Do you want to fuck?"

I looked more closely and realized she was probably older than Bette, but was one of those people blessed with seemingly perennial youth. Then I glanced at her thinly veiled womanhood, her beautiful breasts, and her lovely features. "I'd love to," I said sadly, "but I don't think there's much left . . ."

"That's my department. Can you still walk?"

We hobbled into the mattress room. Gloria was still taking them on. Bette was in the corner with two men this time. My new friend, whose name I had yet to learn, said, "It's a bit crowded in here, gramps. Let's go in the back bedroom."

There was only one couple in there. The light from the hall was enough so we could see another mattress on the floor.

"Let's see what I can do to revive this poor wounded soldier boy."

I laid on my back and closed my eyes. I sensed rather than felt her settle on the mattress next to me. Then I felt a very light tickling on my chest, moving down to my stomach. My God damned cock was trying to stand up and see what was happening. I opened my eyes. She was kneeling next to me bending over so her hair was touching my torso. After sweeping her hair up and down my body a few times -- a highly erotic experience I might add -- she paused with her head over my aching member, and said, "Perhaps I should try CPR."

With that, she gently blew on it. My poor little thing was still trying to get up on its knees. Then she touched it with the tip of her tongue, and it gave a healthy lurch.

"My, my," she said softly, "What's this?" Then she gently closed her lips around the head of it. She alternatively sucked and blew, slowly at first, then with increasing effort, while my little soldier began to rise from the dead. Now I know why they call it a 'blow job'.

Never missing a stroke, she swung a leg over my head, and crouched over my face, offering her delicious little slit to my mouth. I softly ran the tip of my tongue from her back door to her clit. Making the tip of my tongue as stiff and narrow as possible, I forced it into her womanhood and gently touched her clit.

The muscles in her thighs twitched against my ears. I was in the right spot. Two could play at that suck and blow business. I withdrew my tongue, and, shaping it into a hard point, I drove it into her rectum.

She responded by squatting back on my mouth. She also renewed her effort to restore life to my manhood. I sensed that the tide had turned. She was no longer doing me a favor; she was trying to arrange one for herself.

I rimmed her sweet little rectum until secretions began dripping on my chin. I was fully restored, with an urgent need to find a soft, moist, yielding hole. She scrambled off me, and crouched, head down, bottom up. "Stick me in the ass!" she said. "Hurry!"

I needed little encouragement. I quickly mounted her. Her hand reached back between her legs, and she grabbed my prick. "Let's get it wet, first," she said, as she pulled it into her hot, clasping tunnel. I pushed hard into her, almost knocking her flat. "Hey, take it easy, gramps. I'm 12 years old. Remember?"

"Sorry about that," I grunted, as I pulled my wet cock from a little box that was so tight that it gave a sucking sound as I withdrew.

I raised my sights a couple of inches, and pressed forward. She tried to help by reaching back and spreading her buttocks with both hands.

Pop! The head of my glans went past her sphincter muscle and was in her hot, incredibly tight bowel. I began rocking back and forth, gently driving myself deeper in every thrust. After a half dozen such thrusts, she began pushing back against me as I drove ever deeper into her.

"God, that feels so damned good," she moaned. "I love it in the ass. Push harder, make me feel it, hurt me a little!"

I was thrusting hard, now, doing my best. As I gripped her hips and watched her rectum swallow me, now seemingly without effort, she was bucking and pushing hard against me, and the slap-slap-slap of my thighs smashing against her buttocks, our labored breathing, the creak of the mattress, and her low, "Love it, love it, loveit-loveitloveit" were the only sounds we made.

Yet we began to attract a crowd. The girl -- even though I knew better, I still thought of her as a girl -- suddenly shrieked, "Oh God, I'm coming, I'm coming!" Tonight was my night for noisy climaxes.

Personally, I felt as if I could go on forever, except my back was getting tired. I tried to lighten the load on my back by alternating. I kept my torso still, and using my hands and arms, pulled her back and forth on my skewer.

I still couldn't come. Grace had drained me dry. I drove my member into her deep and shallow; almost pulling out, then driving as deep as it would go. I even knocked her flat once. It was then, as I sprawled forward on her back while I was still buried in her, that she came again. This time, I had ample warning. She began to shake. I swear I could hear her teeth chatter. Then she screamed, "I'm dying! GOD, IT'S WONDER FUL!!"

She shuddered and shook seemingly for five minutes before she began to quieten. Suddenly she lunged ahead, leaving me behind. I was out of her. "That's it." she announced. "I'm getting sore."

She craned her neck around to look at me. "Tell you what, gramps," she said, "you go wash that thing and I'll suck you off."

Well, you couldn't ask for a nicer offer than that. And it was so graciously put. I went straight into the men's room off the dressing room and gave my still erected member a nice bath. Then I went back to the mattress room. Unfortunately, my partner had disappeared. She undoubtedly had a better offer.

If there's one thing you can be fairly certain of in a swing club, it's that you can expect the unexpected. It was too bad, because I was getting fond of my little girl-woman friend whose name I still didn't know.

I wandered back into the mattress room where Grace and Bette had been holding court. Grace was still there, but she was alone.

I sat next to her. "Get you a drink?" I asked.

She was resting with her eyes closed. Recognizing my voice, she said, without opening them, "Hi, Jim. I'd open my eyes if I could, but yes, a stiff bourbon/water would be nice." Her voice trailed off. I patted her thigh, and went for refreshments for both of us.

After I returned, I pressed a drink into her hand and plunked my butt down on the mattress next to her. "How's it going, kid?" I asked.

"I'm trying to sort it out, Jim," she said. She opened her eyes briefly and raised herself on her elbow to take a sip of her drink. I noticed how her heavy breasts continually appeared and disappeared as she moved.

Although I certainly knew better, I asked. "Didn't you have a good time?"

She opened her eyes and grinned at me. "I don't know why you, of all people, Jim, have to ask a dumb question like that. Of course I did. The trouble is, I scared my poor husband half to death. Now Howard wants to quit swinging." She looked at me questioningly. "Now what?"

I shook my head. "Grace, I'm sure that half the women here have the same problem. It's very common. Hubby wants some strange stuff without going to the trouble and expense of banging his secretary, and he talks his wife into coming here.

"The problem is that all he gets is a piece of ass, but his wife gets laid. I'm sure you know as well as I do that there's a hell of a difference. It suddenly dawns on him that his wife is having more fun than he is. He changes his mind. Suddenly the secretary seems like not such a bad idea after all."

I knew what I was talking about. I remembered my own fleeting envy/self-pity feelings when I had seen how quickly Bette had found a partner, and I was the one experienced at this game.

"But, as you know," I went on, "the cat's out of the bag. The 'little woman' has discovered the joys of recreational sex and has actually earned the approval of the group for doing it. As long as you're careful, for most women, swinging is a win-win propo sition. You can't miss, as long as you can keep your husband happy." I paused to let this sink in. "How you do that is up to you. But if you want to keep swinging -- and if I ever saw a woman made for it, it's you -- you're going to have to pay the price. Whatever that price is."

"What kind of price?"

"Suggest a swing party at home, feed him vitamins, give him a whore for his birthday (Louise did that for me once), I don't know. Whatever works."

Grace's towel was long forgotten. She was half sitting, supporting her upper torso on her left elbow, and I couldn't help but notice how her soft breasts sagged on the downhill side. Gravity is hell for the older woman.

However, she had been listening carefully. "Howard would like a swing party," she said thoughtfully. "But where do I find the people?"

I suggested she might exchange phone numbers with other couples at the club. I also told her about the national and regional contact magazines that specialize in personal ads.

She nodded. "You've been a dear, Jim. I'd give you a little piece for the road, but I'm so sore, I don't even know if I can walk. Next time, OK?"

I kissed her lightly on the lips and feeling unusually noble, went looking for Bette. I found her sitting in a corner of the social room, chatting with Steve Rollins and the mysterious girl-woman who had revived me after I had been with Grace. She looked even younger now than she had an hour earlier. Some people thrive on sin.

"Hi, there, young lady," I said. "What happened to you? Get cold feet or a better offer?"

"Oh, hi, gramps." She turned to Bette and Steve. "Isn't it wonderful how they let senior citizens in here?" Then, turning to me, she asked, "Do you get a senior's discount?"

I was trying to think of a suitable retort when Bette said, "Carol, I don't think you've met my husband . . ."

I was almost as surprised learning I was married to Bette as I was that this teenage gamine was Mrs. Rollins. To hide my confusion, I said, "Not formally, perhaps. The last time we met, she was masquerading as a 12 year old whore. Do you remember, Carol?"

I thought a faint blush colored her cheek, just for a moment. She looked me in the eye. "It's really nice to know you, Jim. Truce?" She held out her hand.

I took her hand in both of mine. "That's a deal," I said warmly.