Summer Swap 4-15

The first stroke of the razor began under his scrotum, drawing upwards, lifting his balls then separating them, gliding up his lathered shaft. His whole body trembled and he was sure he’d lose it and ejaculate. But he gritted his teeth, held his breath, and kept the orgasm at bay for a little longer. He didn’t think he could keep the lava flow from breaking the mantle much longer. It just felt so fucking good. So fucking good, but so fucking wrong. Mount Byron was primed for a devastating, calamitous eruption.

Cheyenne held the end of his penis in her left hand, thumb and first finger forming a gentle pinscher just below the head of his cock; right where head met shaft. Her right hand held a disposable razor—soft pink, one of Carla’s, probably for shaving her sexy legs—returning it now to that sensitive pleasure point between scrotum and anus. His breaths came hard and heavy as if from extreme exertion, though the effort was entirely mental rather than physical. His inner voice repeated the mantra : Do not come . . . do not come . . . do not come…

But how much longer could his dam walls hold back the insistent deluge?

He was buck naked and two beautiful women serviced him. All in preparation for a sexual encounter with a third. And the third woman was a bombshell, a voluptuous vixen built for high-horsepower sex.

His wife reminded him, sensing his proximity to spillover: “Don’t come, Byron.” The sternness of her voice in conjunction with the strange scenario of sexual fantasy only made matters worse.

Even shy and demure Lily saw his predicament, studying Chey’s shaving handiwork and Byron’s throbbing, swollen member, saying, “He’s about to ejaculate, Cheyenne.”

Saying it like a helpful assistant; two sexually sinister nurses assigned to his cock.

He wedged the narrow blade of one wrist into his mouth and bit it, clamping his teeth on flesh and bone and praying he could survive this crazy, impossible challenge.

Now Lily said, “See,” pointing a skinny finger to Chey’s left hand gingerly holding the end of his cock period. A steady pulsing stream of clear precut streamed an adamant line through the sudsy lather. Lily crinkled her nose. “Ew, look how much stuff is coming out.”

Byron just about lost it, tugging his arm out of his bite, batting his hand down to the curled porcelain lip of Carla’s hot tub, squeezing it with both hands using all his might. “Jesus, Lily,” he cursed.

Cheyenne stared at Lily’s profile, brows tented quizzically, probably pondering this formerly unwilling participant’s newfound playful debauchery.

Byron winced and grimaced, grunting with real agony as he fought back an orgasm, naked ass on the tub edge, two women watching and waiting to see if he could control himself or if his little water pistol would squirt up to the ceiling. He groaned, clenched his teeth, panted for a moment, then said, “Maybe I should just come.” Cheyenne said no, and he further pleaded, his mind racing to rationalize the release his body craved, “But I won’t last two seconds with Carla.”

Cheyenne got his attention, getting him to meet her gaze. “I said no, Byron. Plus I have faith in your pecker to not make Carla wait for round two or three or more. Am I wrong?”

“No,” he said, and believed it, finding a new inner calm.

“Hey,” Lily said, tapping the inside of his knee, and when we he regarded her, she said , “Go like this: hup-hup-hup,” with each hup drawing in a breath, rising higher on her toes, pulling her stomach in and expanding her chest. Byron followed suit, drawing breath in three times and expanding his lungs to their fullest.

They exhaled together, and a tingle shivered through his body.

Lily said to Cheyenne, “Shave him again. Not too slow, not too fast. I’ll watch him for you.”

Cheyenne drew the blade up and over his ballsack, swooping the right side of his shaft this time, and he groaned again, his stomach tightening, crossing an arm over his eyes to blot out the sight of Lily’s nipples hard and erect and pushing out the front of her top. It was too much to bear.

Lily’s voice: “Shoot, Cheyenne, he’s spewing again. And you barely started shaving him.”

Cheyenne’s voice: “I’m just doing his balls and his penis.”

Lily: “Not his pubic patch?”

Cheyenne said no, just cock and balls.

Byron dropped his arm, his face twisted in misery. “Carla said bald.”

Cheyenne raised an eyebrow. “Carla said bald, but I know what Carla wants.”

She drew the blade up his shaft again and he jumped and shivered and rocked, fighting ejaculation like David against Goliath.

He could feel his urethra swell, and a new thick stream of lubricating precum slithered down the belly of his cock and right over his smooth-shaved balls. “Oh my god,” he moaned, “I’m going to come. I don’t want to, but I’m going to.”

Cheyenne scolded him, irritated, disappointed, but Lily swished her hips, dancing on her toes a second, saying to Chey, “Can I try something?”

Cheyenne said sure, and Lily stepped between Byron’s open legs, Chey letting his cock go. It pointed upright, stiff as an iron rod, hard enough to cast concrete over and support passing transport trucks. Precum streamed in an endless supply and he had no idea where it was all coming from, but was convinced it wouldn’t stop.

Lily assumed a more serious expression, then dipped a hand between his parted legs, running her two middle fingers in a quarter sized circle under his balls. She bit her lower lip and turned her eyes up as if in concentration.

He said, “What are you doing?” He didn’t want to tell her this was making it worse.

She whispered, “Hold on,” then fine-tuned the circle to a smaller dime-sized perimeter. “Now close your eyes, tilt your chin up...”

He did so, wincing at some discomfort her terse digital administration delivered as she applied deeper pressure. More precum flowed—but then stopped, like his hose had been cinched. She said, “Breathe in, three seconds, okay? Then out three seconds. Slow your heart...”

In a minute his erection had mostly subsided, wagging to the left, puffy but not primed for immediate cannon fire. He opened his eyes to see Cheyenne staring with wild disbelief at the side of Lily’s face. Lily saw his eyes open, and she smiled, stepping back, reaching for a towel and wiping her hand and wrist. She said to Chey, “You probably only have a minute or two.”

Chey looked at him now and they both broke up in breathy chuckles.

* * *

Paloma’s grip on his cock was firm and masterful, going up and down, and on the upstroke, forming a delightful ‘OK’ circle around his cock head, then twisting like she was popping the cap off a beer bottle. And, god, her mouth... Her lips were plump, soft, cool, slightly chapped yet greased with some cherry gloss. Across from him, Philippe and Scarlet snuggled, his wife doing the same thing to Philippe that Paloma did to him: jerking his cock. Only his wife’s upstroke on that monster would be more like trying to shift gears on an eighteen-wheeler than popping off a bottle cap. Hoo, and they kissed too. He could see them from one squinted eye, Scarlet’s porcelain cheek pressed to Philippe’s dense black beard, her lips pressing his, definitely touching tongues. Fuck, though, it only made him harder. Even now, flexing his cock in her grip, Paloma appreciated it, emitting a subtle but approving moan into his mouth, liking how he could make his own cock swell.

His hand traveled, going across Paloma’s smooth skin, gliding under the water so just his fingertips slid on her taut body. He touched her stomach, her hip. Paloma’s posture shifted, her legs parting. Giving him access to that space between her thighs.

It was all so sudden. It was a lot. One moment they’re eating dinner, the next they’re summoned for a secret meeting, and now he’s supposed to what—perform?

Was this more auditioning?

* * *

Though it was Cheyenne’s naughty behavior that had primed Scarlet’s motor, it was this impressive column of meat in her hand that lured her into her own acts of extra-marital debauchery. Her newfound—or at least now acknowledged—love for penis, and a desire for control, for domination. At least over her man. Her Sully. Who was now definitely fingering another woman, just on the other side of the hot tub. Up till now, it had been Scarlet in charge. Even though she’d allowed him to play with Cheyenne, that had been done under her control. Seeing her Sully, a man who at one time she’d only dated, working his charms on another woman made her feel weird. She’d have to accept it, though. Because, oh golly, had he been accommodating with her. Hey, did you see Philippe’s penis? What a monster, huh? You’d be cool if I took it for a spin, wouldn’t you, baby? What a good man to work with her. Only Sully could see his way through such a debacle. See her way through it, too. He was her co-pilot, navigator, wingman, whatever. Her best friend. Her husband.

And now he broke the relative silence, his lips smacking as they popped away from his kiss with Paloma. Paloma watched him, waiting to see what he would do. He said, “Hey, can we take a pause for a minute?”

Paloma pouted then turned to Philippe with an unsure look. His kiss had been broken already, but they were still embracing, her body pressed to his, one leg hooked over a beefy, fur-covered thigh, his impossibly sized penis still challenging her feminine grip. Her hand slipped down his shaft and coddled his balls, reluctant to stop even though she had her own reservations. Once she began though, her sex drive seemed a powerful thing to contend with.

Paloma said to Philippe, “What’s wrong?”

Sully held her waist still, his shoulder muscles flexing as he rubbed her tummy, saying to her, “No, no, nothing’s wrong. A pause is all.”

Paloma said, “Bathroom?”

Sully chuckled. “Yeah, kinda like that. But with my wife. You know how girls go to the bathroom together?”

“We talk.”

“Exactly,” Sully said. “Un momento.” Which sounded Italian, not even Spanish, and Paloma spoke Portuguese. Holding up a finger for her to wait, Sully now rose out of the water, his cock protruding from between his thighs like a flexing forearm, her husband’s “pause” seeming to have nothing to do with not wanting to have sex. “Hey,” he said to her, offering a hand to help her up, “you coming?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, having had every intention to get up, but still curled on Philippe, her hand kneading his big balls.

Sully wagged his hand. “Don’t worry, your favorite dick will still be here when we get back, won’t it, buddy?”

Philippe chuckled, his laugh rumbling under his furry muscle as she began to rise.

Philippe held her wrist, whispered to her, “It’ll be here. Ready and waiting.”

She kissed him, stooping over him, Sully rubbing her back, and Paloma said, “Oh no, we come on too strong.” Her hand stroked Sully’s thigh, and his scrotum shrank. Paloma ran a hand over it and up the belly of Sully’s cock, pressing it against his body, admiring it.

She felt a distinct lightheadedness now that she’d separated from the passion and stood upright. Her heart was absolutely racing. She said, “We’ll get a... get a... a, uh, bottle of champagne or something.” Paloma scooted to be next to her own husband, Philippe putting an arm around her.

Philippe said to Paloma, “Not too strong, baby. Too fast. We’ll let them talk, and then after...”