SUMMER SWAP 2 // Chapter 20

There were times she wanted to tell them to stop. Not from a sudden moral objection—all the rules had already been tossed away—but the pleasure became too much. Too all-consuming. Smothering her. There were times when they would say the dirtiest of things to her, or when Cody would get the angle just right, the head of his cock pushing against her frontmost wall, so deep it spread open inner pockets that had never been touched before, that the orgasms came on top of each other. Sometimes she couldn’t catch her breath, and in the hazy overwhelm came waking dreams that she was drowning. Drowning in warm saltwater, hands all over her, touching her like cunning sea creatures. But she never stopped them. The words to stop never came from her.

Of course, she didn’t stop them because the pleasure was incredible—she didn’t want to resist pleasure—she didn’t say to stop because it would poison everything for Byron. In order for her husband to accept what they were all doing, she would have to be sure of herself, sure of what they did, and show it to Byron. If she babbled for them to stop, how would her husband not get defensive? How would he not begin to think this was all too crazy and he never should have done it in the first place? Maybe he already thought that, and seeing her resist would confirm all his rejection and hesitation. So she thrashed on the bed, accepted it all, took all the pleasure they gave her even when she thought it was way too much. Calling her dirty names, saying how they would work her out, make money off her pussy; Cody’s sexual mastery. Sully’s manly hands. Scarlet’s hands! And all while Byron watched.

It was about her, yes, but it was about him, too. It made her feel petty; how she’d positioned herself and positioned Byron, all in an effort to reduce his pleasure, amplify her own, and deflate her jealousy. She was jealous of Carla. Jealous of another woman, and yet look how much Byron loved her and was willing to endure for her. Byron was possessive and jealous, and yet he was willing to explore, willing to support her.

After Sully ejaculated, his penis flopping against her face, she guided him to roll back, pushing with a forearm on his stomach, guiding him out of the way so she could see her husband and he could see her.

Byron was aghast, but also enamored with what he saw. His eyes went right to hers. He’d been watching Cody fuck her, but the second her face was no longer eclipsed, his eyes dashed to hers. But she was groggy and muzzy, lost in a fog of pleasure. The orgasms had cascaded against each other, some of them long and thin and attenuating, some of them bright, rolling clouds that did things to her insides that reminded her of the sound a tuning fork made when struck properly. High, resonating notes of pure liquid pleasure. She sucked on her lower lip a second, eyes fluttering, another orgasm coming, a long, thin one that she felt like she’d been surfing on for minutes.

She rocked on the bed with Cody’s thrusting, her breasts rolling around on her chest, and forced her sluggish mouth to form a smile. And when Byron saw it, she let it go, threw her head back in the sheets to gasp as Cody went deep again, touching her in that strange deep spot. Her hands slapped onto Cody’s muscular thighs, his knees out on other either side of her like outriggers, dragging her nails on the taut, tanned skin. His muscles bulged and flexed as he fucked her, his skin taking on a bright sheen from the exertion. Veins stood out on his forearms, his thick biceps, and into his shoulder muscles.

She moaned, head lolling, made eye contact with Cody, and whispered to him, “Are you close?”

Cody adjusted himself, saying nothing, sensing she didn’t want Byron to hear. He brought her leg off his shoulder, cupped the soles of her feet in his two large warm hands and eased her legs higher, bringing her knees up to her ears. He planted a hand down on one side of her face, the other hand pulling out his cock a moment, then drumming it lightly against her clitoris, each wet slap sending off sparkling phosphorescent bulbs behind her vision. She squeaked with each one.

His face loomed over hers, confident, masculine, and so fucking handsome. The light that pooled in his eyes filled up the turquoise like sunlight on the sea. He had such control over her, such sexual mastery. Cody did everything right. As Cody eased his cock back inside, her eyes fluttered again, and she welcomed the thick, deep intrusion and the flood of pleasure that pooled around her grip on his shaft. The flared edge of his cock head rippled against her, and she said to him, loud enough for Byron to hear, “You need to come inside me.”

Cody stroked in and out, smirking, studying her, then working with her. His strokes came quicker, and she began to pant again, the two of them with their faces very close, her knees up on her collar, her well-hung masculine lover showing her husband all the tricks his wife could do.

As if he’d summoned his eruption, he whispered to her, “I’m going to come. You ready?”

She nodded in eager wags. He smelled like a hot shower and sandalwood soap. He worked magic to every part of her body and wanted to do it for her husband’s sake as well as hers. Cody’s command of his own sexuality and hers and her husband’s existed high on some forbidden plane. She grasped his hips and sunk her nails into his muscle, arms wrapped around her own thighs. As he fucked her, she panted, “Come inside me, oh, mm, please, come inside me, don’t you fucking dare pull it out.”

Elements of her statement became a chanted mantra, and as Cody’s breaths came quicker and quicker, becoming animal snorts, her mantra became a growled anthem. “Don’t you dare pull out! Don’t you dare pull out!”

And as Cody finally roared and stabbed deep, ejaculating in her pussy, his big cock flexing and jumping, her head lolled to the side to watch her husband.

Byron couldn’t take it anymore, had stretched himself out in the chair, one leg thrust out, the other bent awkwardly. His eyes were narrow slits, his face twisted. His cock poked the front of his swim trunks into a nylon tent. Then he bucked, and his legs shook. His hand slapped into his lap, and he gripped the bulge over the fabric. A wet spot appeared in the blue fabric, growing darker and larger. Byron had come watching her with her lover, watching what her lover did to her, and watching as he came inside her. She gasped at the incredible erotic sight of her husband overwhelmed by his wife’s sexuality. A nonparticipant, yet the biggest, most important, participant in her life. The facilitator.

It was of Byron she was thinking when her orgasm became too much and she finally rolled her eyes up and went gray.

* * *

It was the hottest fucking thing Scarlet had seen in her entire life. Her skin had tightened and her scalp bristled. Her nipples ached. She had never been wetter. The way Cheyenne had demanded for Cody to come inside her. He hadn’t even worn a condom! It was so fucking dirty she couldn’t believe it.

Now Cody withdrew, let his big dick flop onto Cheyenne’s flat stomach. It spurted the last watery vestiges of his load. Cheyenne’s head rolled around, her eyes half open, but unseeing.

“Holy shit,” Scarlet said to Sully, reaching over him to pat her friend’s cheek.

Cheyenne’s eyes barely moved, but her little pink tongue stuck out and ran a ring around her pouted lips. She was really and truly well out of it.

Cody raised up, stretching out his muscular torso, raising his hands to his face and scooping back his sweat-tangled hair. He admired his work. He’d fucked Cheyenne Bishop into oblivion, laying there with her knees up to her ears, a load of semen in her belly, a pearl forming in her ravaged seams, and a trickling rivulet that ran into the shallow cup of her tight navel.

Cody looked to Scarlet now. The two of them had become the emcees of the show. But she had no idea what to think or what to do next. Were they going to keep going? Did Cheyenne need smelling salts? Byron looked as exhausted as Cheyenne, but at least his eyes were open. He was spread out like an X on the chair, one leg stuck out straight, his hand gripping his erection through his swim trunks. It looked like he’d ejaculated in them.

Now Scarlet imitated Cody, running her hair back from her face. Sully went up on an elbow, but he looked as sleepy-eyed as Byron. She said to Cody, “What’s next?”

Cody said, “Best we skedaddle, Miss Scarlet.”

She said, “What about Miss Susan?” Then, realizing Cheyenne wouldn’t hear them using their accents, corrected herself: “What about Chey?”

Cody stayed in his character, saying now, “We leave her with her man.”

* * *

Byron watched as Cody stood at the foot of the bed, his dick sticking out straight and glistening with his wife’s insides. Cody helped Scarlet off the bed, Sully helping with two hands on her hips, then getting up with her. Scarlet took Sully’s hand—Sully had an erection again—and led him out of the room, both of them wobbling past Byron’s feet and snatching up their clothing as they went. Neither of them said anything to him. He lay still spread out on the chair, exhausted, tormented, and filled with brimming love for Cheyenne. She’d shown him. She had shown him something so secret she would’ve had to keep it hidden for the rest of her life. But he’d let it come to the surface. Even though it was an unmoored World War II era battleship mine, he let that potential for destruction come to the surface for Cheyenne’s sake.

Cody paused a second, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. Like he suspected there might be anger. Anger roiling up in Chey’s husband from shame and regret. But there was none. Byron let Cody off the hook and nodded to him once. Cody was relieved, picking up his towel and holding it to his waist. He snuck into the bathroom, showing Byron his perfect boy ass for a second before pulling on a pair of shorts. Then, when he came out on the other side of the bathroom, stretching a clean shirt over his muscular torso, he said in a quiet voice to Byron, “You guys stay in our room tonight. Okay?”

Byron said nothing again, but nodded. Then, as Cody put his hand on the door, Byron said thanks.

Then he was alone with Cheyenne. He rose from the chair in stiff increments, wincing at the back pain from being stretched out the way he was. In the bathroom he ran a hot faucet, took one of the Webers’ clean towels, stripped off his trunks and dried himself, then wetted a face cloth in the hot water. He went naked to the foot of the bed, his wife completely out of it, but awake in some respect. Her arm was bent at the elbow, her hand up in the air and her two first two fingers moving.

A pearly slug emerged from his wife’s pussy, and he cleaned her with the warm facecloth. At the touch of the cloth to her most sensitive place, Cheyenne jumped and snorted, but still didn’t rise. She settled, then moaned as he turned the cloth over and over and continued to restore his wife’s womanhood to its pristine stature. Her lips parted, and she moaned a small sound of pleasure. Right away, his depleted erection returned to full throbbing force, rising from his lap with each beat of his heart.

When the cloth was folded into its smallest form, he tossed it to the corner of the bed. The bed where he’d slept with Carla. Where they’d mostly watched Friends on a laptop while he lamented for his wife alone with Cody in his room. But now he’d seen it. Been in the room when it happened. All the fear had been removed. The fear was the unknown. The unknown was an unkind devil when you were jealous and self-conscious. Your mind painted pictures that hurt your heart and satisfied every secret fear you hid. But the witnessed truth was far different. There was undeniable beauty in seeing the one you loved so well-satisfied.

But it would change their relationship. There was no way for them to remain the way they were.

He took Chey’s weak hand in his and patted the back until her eyes fluttered open and showed him some level of consciousness. When their eyes met, her brow knit with worry.

He pulled on the hand, heaving her languorous body up to sit.

“Come on,” he said, and tried to pull her to stand.

Chey resisted, pulling her hand back, but too weak to pull it free. “What? Why...”

“Stand up,” he said, pulling again and getting her off the bed and onto her unsteady feet.