Summer Swap 5-8

Scarlet’s lips were cold and soft and tasted like expensive champagne. He had her pinned on their bed, both of them naked and tingling all over, him with a wild feeling of awesome love for this woman who he knew so well showing him layers to her personality that, while they made total sense, were still so lubriciously revealing. He loved her—loved her so much he’d married her—but now somehow he felt closer to her than he had ever before. This yacht vacay had been more uniting than their marriage day.

He humped his fully-primed, ramrod straight pole into the perfect-fit space where her thigh met her pelvis—already slippery from her juices, now made slipperier from his own excitement. Their fingers interdigitated in a tight but loving squeeze, and he held Scarlet’s hands against the bedding above her head, her crimson hair fanned out around them.

He bit her lips and she sucked his tongue, and when she broke their kiss for a gasp of air, he chided her. “You’re a fucking cock blocker.”

She threw her head back on the bed and laughed, showing off her perfect white teeth, all the way to the molars. He suckled her creamy throat, then said, “You can laugh, but I’m telling you, I was going to get laid tonight.”

She tucked her chin to her chest so their eyes would meet. She said, “I’ll fuck you if you’re so hard up.”

“You’ll throw me a bone?”

“That’s your job,” she said.

“That’s all I am to you, a bone thrower?”

Scarlet shimmied her hips and tilted her pelvis seeking to situate the tip of his spear into her entrance. “How about a bone sinker?” Then she warned him, “Careful.”

Yes, she’d been treated to a spectacular flesh weapon of war that had pounded her most of last night. But look at this: she wasn’t too injured to reject her husband tonight. Quite the contrary: she was primed hot for him, enough she would overlook any discomfort.

He listened to the lovely sound of his wife intaking air through her parted lips as he—with great care—sunk his erection inside her half the way. She was hot and wet, and wanted this as bad as he did. As he withdrew, she said, “You think she would have slept with you?”

“Who, that Brazilian chick?”

She laughed. “That’s the one.”

“Think she was hot to trot, babe.”

She cupped his face in her warm hands, pouting. “Did I wreck your night?”

He said, “Cock blocker.”

She kissed him, long and lasting, until they both broke up with snuffling laughter. She bumped her forehead against his. “Whatever they come up with now, I’m sure you’ll appreciate my resistance.”

“Vive la résistance,” he said.

“Now fuck me,” she said.

They were slow and loving at first and as Scarlet warmed up to his penetrating action and showed no complaint, their pace quickened. She liked it on her back with her knees up, her hands on his waist. They kissed a lot. This first one was going to be a quickie, that was for sure. It didn’t take long before he could feel her pointed toes touch the backs of his thighs—a sign his wife was on a clear path to orgasm.

So he stopped, made her mewl complaint because she’d been close, but he wanted to come inside his wife from behind, kissing her cheek and biting her ear lobe. He withdrew, guided her to roll on to her tummy and swatted her round behind. When she tried to lift her bottom up, getting on her knees so he could get in, he pushed her into the bed.

“I want you flat, baby,” he whispered as she traced hair behind an ear, giving him access to nibble her neck and auricle. “Tilt that tushy up.”

Pinned under him, Scarlet bowed out her belly and pushed that perfect rump up and into his hips. He angled his cock right and sunk it in nice and slow, going bit by bit and feeling his wife tremble. Her hands grabbed bedding and her body writhed in ecstasy. He fucked her nice and slow, feeding off every minute feedback she showed him, from posture to breath, he played his wife like a fine handcrafted instrument one would handle with white cotton gloves, playing her strings with mastery, producing music he loved to hear. His favorite fucking song of all time.

Scarlet was panting and crying, on the cusp of a delicious well-earned orgasm, when someone knocked on their door, timid at first, as if not to startle them, but louder with each rap. An urgent, demanding sound—meant not to be ignored or disregarded.

* * *

Carla’s breasts were the two softest, silkiest pillows in the world. Large and round and pliable, they made him think of his skeevy uncle’s waterbed the time him and his cousin had to empty the man’s apartment with his dad Byron Sr. When dad wasn’t looking, both of them pre-teens, they’d patted that mattress over and over, watching the waves, and though neither of them said a thing he was sure they were both thinking of breasts.

Even that bizarre orthogonal thought couldn’t squelch the rising tide, couldn’t hold at bay the locomotive rush of his orgasm. It was the feel of Carla’s perfect breasts against his cock, the look on her face, the way she would look from the head of his cock poking up and down in her cleavage up to his face to see if he was enjoying it (how could he not!) that was going to send him over the top. His frazzled brain scrambled for a hold, like some cowboy falling down a cliff, thrashing for a bit of sagebrush to grab onto like a lone excuse, a reason why he could go ahead and ejaculate. The reason screamed at him: just do it and be done so we can get to the good stuff. The good stuff located between her soft, tanned thighs. That, and knowing his recovery would be quick.

He bit his knuckle again, practically stuffing his whole fist into his mouth, looking to bite down against the suffering, bite down against the rising tide and the demands of biology.

She’d pushed down the cups of the bra; her arms had squashed those creamy pillows together into quaggy teardrops that felt like satin on his throbbing member. Her nipples were hard. She was aroused. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes said fuck me, which in Latin, he was pretty sure meant Go ahead and come.

And that was fucking it. One more look in those alluring fuck-me eyes and he couldn’t stop it anymore. The release was enormous and seemed to build somewhere deep inside him, rushing to shore with the ominous power of a tidal wave. The pleasure went off like an underwater explosion, a veritable ignited caisson; like the CIA had detonated deep sea explosives and blown up the Nordstream pipeline. Instead of methane gas hurtling to the surface, his eruption was hot liquid. The release was gargantuan and he couldn’t help vocalizing it. The sheer pressure-induced velocity of his discharge hurt his urethra, like he’d put too big a bullet in too small a bore. The first stream went past her startled face and splatted the headboard. What followed was an endless spasming, jets and pulses and sprays and spritzes. It wouldn’t stop. Carla cooed and gasped and helped him along with two hands clamping her breasts on his discharging pistol. When it kept coming she laughed, having to squint and turn away as stream after stream began now to plop on her cheeks and chin. She acted surprised and dazzled, like she was seeing a man ejaculate for the first time, not knowing until now that this show would be what it’s like. None of her private school friends could have prepared her for what he’d just unleashed.

And now she lay there in her schoolgirl uniform, her face painted in the lines and puddles of the largest load in the history of the word, with it in her hair, running down her neck, flooding the cups of her eyes. Even running into her mouth over the curl of her plump pink lips. It coated her breasts, her collar, filled her cleavage. A rising shame swirled up from his core and ghosts of regret whipped around his attic. Why had he done that, why didn’t he resist harder? Why didn’t he just fucking reach down and do that two-finger trick Lily had showed him? Why, oh, why...

And yet, the regret dissipated, like blinds thrown open and dispelling the shadow on the closet door you thought was a hulking, spectral ghoul snuck into your room to disembowel you with long crypt-clacking claws, showing you the shadow was only cast by a coat tossed onto a rocking chair.

Because what he’d believed to be a personal horror, revealed itself to be way more than that. The regret was a figment of his own imagination, just like the ghoul. Carla didn’t show disdain at his lack of self-control. Didn’t show him one cum-frosted eyebrow raised in opprobrium. Carla wasn’t scornful or disappointed...

He watched in awe as she writhed on the bed like possessed by spirits, like sick with fever. Her face contorted underneath the frosty masque; pure lust. Her knees pressed tightly together and she rolled her hips as if being ravaged by an accomplished but invisible lover. Her heels dug into the mattress, her toes flexed forward and back. She made sounds of soft, airy delight, hands clenched into little fists with the thumbs tucked in.

Carla was orgasming.

* * *

Sully said, “What if it’s them?”

“Of course it’s them,” Scarlet said, back muscles rippling in the Caribbean moonlight. “Who else is coming to our door in the middle of the night?”

From outside now, Cody’s voice: “Guys, you awake?”

Sully said, “Is that Cody?”

Cody: “Sorry, guys, sorry. It’s an emergency.”

“Fuck,” Scarlet hissed. Sully withdrew his ramrod from her sleeve and she kicked her feet.

“I was so fucking close,” he said through gritted teeth, fighting every urge not to put it back in and finish.

“I was so fucking close,” Scarlet said, just as mad, thrashing her arms around and gathering bed sheets to swoop them around her nudity.

Cody again from out in the hall: “Guys?”

“Yeah-yeah, hold on,” Scarlet said, raising her voice, not hiding her irritation.

Sully stepped off the bed, looking for something to cover up with, taking the closest pillow. “Get the door.”

Scarlet said, “The woman doesn’t get the door in the middle of the night, Sully.”

He shrugged. “I don’t have pants.”

Scarlet grumbled and got off the bed. “We’ve all seen each other naked, Sully, he’s not going to be offended if you answer the door with your thing sticking out.”

“But it’s hard.”

“Never mind,” she said, waving him away, tidying her hair and reaching for the door.

“You’re wearing that sheet and everything,” Sully muttered. “I don’t know why you have to be difficult.”

And as she opened the door he trotted to get behind her, to back her up. Maybe she was right and it was the guy’s thing to answer the door while you were interrupted having absolutely amazing sex.

Cody stood a few paces from the threshold, out in the light of the hallway, hands in his shorts’ pockets, looking sheepish. He’d been pacing.

Scarlet said, “What is it?”

Cody pivoted, eyes going up like he wasn’t sure how to phrase what he wanted to say.

“Yeah?”

Cody said, “Uh, um... you guys got room for one more?”