SUMMER SWAP 2 // CHAPTER 1

This wild escalation of the day was going to kill him. Why the hell wouldn’t he put a stop to it? That was the question he kept asking himself. And he’d come up with some good reasons why. If he pulled Scarlet aside and told her to come to her senses and get some damn clothes on, he’d be the bad guy. The party pooper. That’s what he told himself, but he was afraid it wasn’t very near the truth. Because not once had he got close enough to Scarlet to lay a hand on her shoulder and ask her what was going on in her brain that she would do something so crazy. Instead, he was following her around at a distance, acting nonchalant, watching her like she wasn’t his wife but some hottie at a bar instead. Like this was a party and he’d just spied a girl who really did it for him.

This wild display from his beloved wife dredged up something from his murky deep, down so low like the Marianas trench where those blind fish lived with the lights that hung in front of their faces and they lured dumber fishes close. This was the thing: Scarlet was a flight attendant working the first class lounge for American Air and sometimes took gigs on private jets on the weekends. This meant his wife was away for long stretches for work. Though he trusted her completely (hell, Scarlet didn’t like most people to begin with, especially the entitled fucks she met on planes), absence did work away at you and he’d never once had a moment of unsureness where he believed maybe something bad happened between her and some millionaire playboy looking to bag a hot-ass flight attendant like Scarlet and join the Mile High Club. Something shimmered in his dark heart like a jewel in a dusty ruin; a treasure found amidst the worst apocalyptic reality you could imagine. He should never feel what he felt right now, but damn it he felt scared and aroused at the same time and the feeling was so profound he could barely make sense of it.

And that was the real reason he didn’t do shit to put a stop to his wife’s insane behavior.

The truth was Scarlet loved to tease him, and he wasn’t dumb enough to miss that was exactly what she was doing right now. This wasn’t flagrant flirting with another man, this was his wife being a malicious little prankster—look at her, pretending like she didn’t know her Sully boy was watching her casually chatting with Philippe, both of them naked, Philippe with the biggest dangling dong he’d ever seen on a dude, the thing right out of a porno.

Right next to him, catching him off guard, Byron sidled close, saying, “How you doing, buddy?”

And when Sully looked over at Byron, though Byron feigned a nonchalant expression, he could read between Byron’s sly and smirking lines that Byron was enjoying this, thinking it tormented him. It did torment him, but then again, it also didn’t.

“Just fine, kiddo,” he said, a sour tang of insubordination to Byron now—they used to be on equal footing, but now Byron wielded an undeserved and intangible superiority since he’d found out that Byron had sex with Carla and had even titty-fucked her. “Where we headed? I thought we were going swimming.”

Philippe and Scarlet turned to the right going down the steps to the lower deck instead of heading down one more flight to the swimming deck that would put them in the lake. Byron shrugged, mouth turning down in an I-don’t-know crescent. “I guess the swimming pool.”

Byron yowled suddenly and jumped into a striding escape a few steps ahead of him, dick and balls bouncing, both his hands rubbing his ass cheeks like he’d stepped on a wasp nest. Cheyenne chuckled, walking at Sully’s side in Byron’s former place, holding two frosty beer bottles—she had poked the icy bottle between Byron’s butt cheeks.

Cheyenne said, “Water’s kind of choppy today. Not the best for swimming,” like she hadn’t just ice-lanced her husband’s ass.

“Scarlet said you—” Then he looked down and over at Cheyenne and saw her fully naked. Her breasts swayed and slightly jiggled with her bare foot steps on the yacht’s deck.

Cheyenne knew exactly where he looked and only snuffled a little and smirked. She offered him the beer bottle.

“Yeah, no thanks, it was up Byron’s butt.”

Byron returned, one hand still scrubbing his chilled bottom and gave Chey a surly stare as he took the bottle from her. Chey offered Sully the other bottle. “You’d prefer this one?”

“You’re not having one?”

“I’m full,” she said. “I brought them for the heavy drinkers.”

That’s me and Byron,” he said, and twisted off the beer top. He looked over his shoulder to see Arlo—the third musketeer in their early morning drinker trifecta—but there was no sign of him. It was just the five of them, three men and two hot women. And one of those hot women was his wife.

“I guess Arlo’s hanging back,” he said, turned and swigged from his bottle—and caught Cheyenne doing what he had done only a moment ago. Gawking at the part of him that you were supposed to keep hidden from the public, and most especially your wife’s best friend. He’d never felt more naked in his entire life. And this was even though he’d gone streaking the night before.

His cock was hard and outright and Cheyenne looked at it unabashedly. He could practically feel his wife’s best friend’s eyes caressing his cock. It swelled his protrate like an over-inflated basketball, and his cock stiffened painfully, stretching longer, getting thicker and angling higher.

His throat tightened with anxiety, having no idea how to behave in a situation like this. Wanting it to end and wanting it to go on forever at the same time. Just his wife’s friend looking at his erection bobbing with his steps, flicking left and right in the bright sunshine, made him feel like he could come. He went light headed, and he chanced a look at Cheyenne.

She smiled, said, “Happy to see me?”

He chuckled and rubbed the cold bottle against his forehead as they rounded the corner to the yacht’s built-in swimming pool, an eight foot deep tank open to the deck below through glass viewing walls.

Byron chuckled too, taking another swig, and Chey looked to her husband, smiling wide, saying to him, “What?”

Byron shook his head and laughed, saying, “Nothing, nothing at all.”

“It was funny, no?”

“Very funny,” Byron said and hooked an arm over her shoulders.

Chey rolled her eyes and looked to Sully. “Sorry I noticed.”

As Philippe and Scarlet entered the lounge area ahead of them, still engaged in a lively conversation, Sully said to Chey, “Things are getting real loosy-goosy around here, huh? Just going to straight up acknowledge each other’s ding-dongs and hoo-hoos.”

Byron—mid-swig—spat out a mouthful of foamy beer in a blurting snort and Chey laughed at him. Byron backhanded beer from his mouth and chin and repeated, “Ding-dongs and hoo-hoos?”

Sully said, “Oh, sorry, what, is that too juvenile for you?”

“Probably for anybody,” Cheyenne said and laughed.

Byron chuckled and nodded his head toward the pool. “Not those two. They’re not juvenile,” he said, as Philippe and Scarlet sat quarter-facing each other at the corner of the pool, their legs in the water. Philippe’s legs were open and his big, brown, uncircumcised cock dangled below the pool’s lip.

“Nope,” Cheyenne said, “a couple of cool customers, and we’re a bunch of—“

Sully said, “Nerds?”

“No, not that,” Chey said, frowning. “I can’t think of the word.”

Sully said, “I think it’s nerds.”

Byron said, “We’re not nerds”

Chey poked Byron, saying, “You two are, I’m not. Excuse me while I go hang out with the kids in the cool section.”

She abandoned the two of them by the deck railing, crossing the deck to join Scarlet and Philippe. Sully watched her taut butt cheeks lift and drop, lift and drop. Byron’s wife had checked out his dick and mentioned it. His cock was still ike a steel bar from having Cheyenne’s eyes on it.

Byron said, “Pretty crazy, huh?”

Sully looked over again as Chey set long naked body next to Scarlet, putting an arm behind her for support, her feet in the pool water, leaning forward to say hi to Philippe, Philippe’s legs still parted way too wide, showing off a pound of sausage dangling toward the water. Sully shook his head and let out a long exhale from parted lips. “Nope.”

“We’ve got together so many times, I never once saw us getting naked like this. Did you?”

He shook his head no, eyes glued now to his wife’s naked back, er crimson hair hanging down between her shoulder blades. Never mind being naked. What about what Byron and Chey did with Carla and Cody? This was nothing compared to what Byron and his wife had done last night. If you wanted to talk about crazy. Eyes still on his wife, he muttered, “Scarlet can dream about it all she wants, there’s no way she’s sleeping with Philippe. Look at that thing. . . . Or Cody, for that matter.”

Byron was silent for a long while, processing the unprompted statement. Then he punched Sully’s shoulder and whispered, “I think that leaves me, Sully, my man.”

Sully shook his head vigorously. “Not on your life, hotshot.”

All this time since he’d pinged Byron coming out of Carla’s bedroom, all he’d ever fantasized about was Carla. Byron had fucked Carla. And why couldn’t it be him? Byron put his dick between Carla’s tits, for crying out loud.

His dumb brain got hung up on the first instance of swinging he was exposed to.

Cheyenne. Cheyenne’s perfect ass, so tight and round. Cheyenne checking out his erection.

Holy shit, did she do that as a come on? Was Chey flirting with him? Was that her way of saying, “Nice rod, Sully, wouldn’t mid taking a spin on it sometime.”

Fuck his cock ached, but now his balls ached ten times worse. He had a ripe and bursting set of high-school-grade blue-balls right now. He crossed his legs as he leaned on the railing and flexed his thighs. The hurt didn’t go away. The only way to get rid of it was to . . .

Fuck. He was so dumb.

Of course he wanted to sleep with Carla—that was so obvious. Who wouldn’t? The woman was hot and dirty sex personified. But it was so obvious it also eclipsed an easier-for-Scarlet-to-digest and also hot-as-fuck opportunity to get under the bed sheets with Cheyenne. That would be way easier to negotiate than sex with Carla. Scarlet was too wary of Carla. And, holy cow, Cheyenne was so fucking hot.

Byron put his naked ass back on the railing like he did, crossing his arms. He said, “You know, this morning when Scarlet took her swimsuit off, and I thought I knew how this whole yacht trip just took a turn for the strange and kinky better, I got excited about how I would have fun taunting you and sniping you with shots about Scarlet and Cody or something, Scarlet and Philippe.”

“You’re a real swell guy, Byron.”

“You would do the same.”

“Yeah, I would.”

Byron sighed, a satisfied sort of sound. “But maybe you and I should have each other to commiserate with.”

“Commiserate? I thought you were okay with the whole”—he whispered now—“swinging thing.”

“Yeah, I am. Kind of. But, you know, Philippe doesn’t have a wife, and Cody is already a swinger . . . that leaves you and me the most similar.”

Byron’s tone had taken on a heavier weight, like there was something on his mind. At first he smiled at the thought of coercing the info out of Byron and then sniping him with it later, but then realized, yeah, maybe commiserate was too strong a word, but it was still apt.

He said, “What’s on your mind, bud?”

Byron sawed his lower teeth over his top lip, contemplating it. He took a breath, then said, “Chey wants me to, uh . . .”

“Uh what?”

Byron chuckled and raised his eyebrows, having trouble saying what it was. Still without looking over, his eyes glued to Chey’s bare back as she sat at the pool’s edge, Byron said, “She, uh, she really, uh, she really wants me to, uh, watch her. You know? Watch her have sex with another man.”

Now Sully’s own eyebrows raised higher and his heart began to gallop in his chest. His cock flexed and angled higher, and a tickling stream of silvery pre-come dribbled from his urethra and dangled from his cock tip, swaying toward Byron in the breeze, growing longer and thinner as it stretched to touch down on the deck.

Holy shit. This was it.

Cheyenne wanted him—Sullivan, good old Sully, her best friend’s husband—to fuck her while Byron watched.