SUMMER SWAP // Chapter 34

Byron plunged into his wife all the way, tip to base. Cheyenne took him with lubricated ease. Their talk had aroused her. He hated that it aroused him and had kept it secret from Chey—had kept it secret from himself. Or at least had let it go unacknowledged. The aching hardness his wife’s awful behavior erected was hard to decode. Everything Chey told him—all the dirty details of the last evening’s playti2070

me were disgusting and horrid. And yet, as she’d told him, relating to him in a quiet confessional, along with the disbelief and the resentment and the indignation, something else unfurled: desire.

Of course he hated what happened. How could he suffer it? It was terrible. Ghastly. Insupportable. And yet it happened and couldn’t be changed. Somehow in the wake of Chey’s horrible confession, he’d rooted out a seeping scent-trail of perversion that worked for him. The idea of a woman so dark and dirty was exciting. The idea it was his wife was scandalous. And yet, that wasn’t Chey. Not the Cheyenne he knew. Not the sweet, humble, talented woman who made him a bento box every day for lunch with cute little notes and bright colorful fruit she’d scooped into animal shapes, using sesame seeds to give them adorable cartoon eyes. No, that wicked woman was Susan. Or at least she allowed randy men to call her Susan when they fucked the shit out of her and brought their buddies in to watch.

He thrusted into her and made her squawk, throwing her head back. He snatched the pillow from the floor and scooted it underneath her head, got face to face with her, humping his electric cock in and out of her. “You’re the fucking worst. You’re the fucking dirtiest little slut I ever met.” Though his words were harsh and insulting, his tone was filled with lust and a distinct measure of awe. Cheyenne had never turned him on like this before. The sexual desire he felt for his own wife rumbled open under his feet and yawned wide to swallow him whole.

Cheyenne wasn’t insulted. “I’m the worst,” she panted. “Oh my God, I’m so bad.” The word ‘bad’ was drawn out the way a whiny little brat would. Cheyenne was in heat. Cheyenne was out of control. His ball sack tightened to a wrinkled pouch and his balls lurched up into his body with a newfound excitement. His eyes stretched wide, taking in Cheyenne like he’d never seen her before. Her pretty face contorted with base pleasure, her eyes open and searching, not closed and hiding. She was testing him. Seeing if her husband could handle the woman who hid behind those big blues. Seeing if Byron could handle a ride on the Susan train.

She fucked him back as hard as he fucked her. Her hips crashed into his and her legs scissored against his sides. Her lean little body bucked against his, humped and ground her pussy into his hard cock. It was his wife unleashed.

He grabbed behind one of her knees and shoved the leg up. “Did you suck his big cock?”

“Oh, I did, baby, I sucked it.”

“You fucking liked it?” A tension ballooned somewhere behind his tightened sack. The mechanisms for ejaculation had been engaged.

“Mm, I loved sucking his cock.”

“Was it everything you wished?”

“I wanted him to come in my mouth,” she said and pouted a surly, childish, down-turned mouth.

“He came inside you. He came inside my wife.”

“He came inside me, baby,” she said, scratching her nails on his chest.

“He put his bare cock inside my beautiful wife. She took his condom off.”

“I wanted it bareback, baby. I wanted it for real.”

Now she made eye contact with him and he thought his heart might burst. What the fuck had gotten into her? She made a mewling sound of pleasure—a sound like a cat in heat, he thought. Like she was so close to coming and she just couldn’t reach it yet, but wanted it desperately.

“And Philippe watched you. Watched you get fucked.”

“He watched me get fucked, baby. He watched it up close.” Chey’s hands scrabbled from his front to his back. Her nails ran down his back and sank into the globes of his clenched buttocks. She gripped ahold of his ass and held hi in place, his cock buried inside her as far as it would go. Chey swirled and humped and rubbed her clit against his pubic bone. Those little squeaks and mewls built in intensity. She was using his cock to get off. He watched her face as she chased down an orgasm.

He growled, “He jerked off to your to your little pussy.”

Chey frowned and squealed, eyes closing tight. She was going to come. “Oh, yeah, oh yeah,” she panted.

“He blew his load fantasizing about shoving his enormous cock inside you.”

That did it. Her mouth opened into an O shape and she stiffened and drew in along whisking inhale. Her pussy clamped on his cock and the tickle that brought triggered his own orgasm.

“He came on his own chest,” he growled.

“He came, oh, he came all over his hairy chest,” she babbled in a long, breathy string as she orgasmed.

“Did he blow a big load?”

“So much, mm, so much come,” she said, voice squeezed shut.

“Fuck,” Byron growled and pulled out, eager to show his wife his own load. He scooted to his knees, and Chey looked around, bewildered. She saw his hand shuffling wildly on his cock and she gasped with dirty surprise. She stuffed her arms down at her sides, tucked her hands under his legs, and grabbed his ass. Her down stretched arms squashed her breasts together. Never once did he and Chey have dirty sex. They had great sex, but the veneer of respect was never tarnished. Now he straddled her, jerking his cock off onto her pressed together tits, while they replayed the dirtiest parts of her tryst with a friend’s husband—while another man watched.

The blast of his orgasm came like a pressure valve’s destruction. The pressure blew like a thunderclap and wild and slippery pleasure swirled around the end of his cock as he shot stream after stream onto the woman he loved, showing her how dirty he could be. And in a way, it was like popping a champagne cork in celebration of the discovery of his wife’s badness. If anything sanctified Cheyenne’s illicit behavior last night, it was the celebratory release he showered her breasts and face with. And she accepted him, accepted his seed with glee and joy, smiling, averting her face from the patter of his wet impacts, but soon surrendering to it and letting it paint her perfect features.

* * *

They lay together in the afterglow of magnificent, wonderful, golden sex. Close, intimate and loving. Face to face, naked bodies touching. She ran the pad of her finger along her husband’s luscious lower lip. This man could have condemned her. Could have cast her out of their house. Sure, they’d both engaged in the same extra-marital act of experimental swinger sex, but it would be crazy to dismiss how much darker her session with Cody had gone.

Byron had cleaned her face with his workout shirt, then put it down below them. When his cold semen touched the back of her leg, she made a grossed out sound and they both laughed. The messy shirt was escorted to the floor. Cool light from the outside pooled in the quiet of the lounge outside the yacht’s gym. It was just the two of them and although she’d had sex with Cody last night, she’d never felt closer to the man she loved.

“Quit it, it tickles,” Byron said at last and pulled his face away, rubbing at his lower lip. She hugged him tight and kissed his chest. He hugged her in return and kissed the top of her head the way she loved.

Byron pulled away so they could look at each other. “You didn’t want to kiss Cody?”

She shook her head. “Did you kiss Carla?” Her stomach tightened at the expectation of an answer.

“I did,” he admitted.

She ruffled his hair, pretending she was okay with that. “And I bet you played with her tits.”

“I did,” Byron admitted and though it hurt her feelings, what the hell could she complain about?

“Carla’s got some pretty amazing tits,” she said. Byron looked at her blankly. She realized the position it put him in. “You don’t have to say anything, Byron. I know you like her tits. They’re big. They’re perfect.” Somehow saying it out loud in front of Byron made it not so aggravating that her husband had been in bed with a woman with D cups last night. A woman with D cups who intimidated her.

Byron smiled like he enjoyed watching her pretend not to squirm. She said, “Did you titty-fuck her?” She used a husky male voice to remove herself from the question—like she was joking, but she wanted to know.

Byron frowned and cocked his head. “Why would you ask me that?”

She frowned back. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Byron raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I wondered— That was exactly what Sully asked me this morning.”

“Oh great. So you told him.”

“He already knew, Chey. You talked to Scarlet.”

“No, I mean, you told him you put your stupid dick between Carla’s breasts.” Shit, she’d thought she had a handle on this.

“I didn’t tell him that. I didn’t do that.”

“You didn’t?”

The brief moment of relief was dashed, reading Byron’s hesitant expression.

She said, “Oh, you didn’t, but you still want to?”

Byron smiled at a sheepish slant and looked away.

“Whatever,” she said with comical resignation.

Byron said, “Do you think we should? Do this again, I mean.”

She ran her fingers through his thick hair, scratching his scalp and looking into his warm eyes. “I want to. You want to. We need to talk beforehand. No going half-cocked—”

“Or double-cocked in your case,” he muttered.

She smacked his cheek, four quick beats, and he laughed. She flicked his lip.

Byron said, “Okay. We need to talk. Let’s set some rules that we can both abide.”

An uneasiness settled low in her stomach. A desire and a fear intermingling. Byron saw her discomfort and called her on it. “What is it?”

She saw herself telling him, then chickened out. “Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Tell me. Come on, we’re supposed to do this right, remember?”

She sighed and looked high up. “Oh boy,” she whispered. Byron kissed her neck.

“Tell me, Chey.”

“You know what might work for us?”

“What?”

“Since we’re doing this together and we’re finding our sea legs?”

“What?”

She took a deep breath, held it. She said, “I want . . .”

“Oh no.”

“Don’t say oh no, Byron, come on.”

“Oh boy,” Byron groaned and hid his face away in both hands.

She pried them away. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Yes, I do, yes, I do, yes, I do,” he said, putting on an act, being youthful and funny and pretending he was running away from bad news, or a dirty dog trying to outsmart its master when it was bath time. He struggled away, and she hooked arms and one leg around him. He tickled her, and she yelped and let him go. Byron bounced off the couch and jumped, both fists pumped overhead in victory. Then he shouted with surprise and covered up his cock.

He went to his knees and buried his face in the couch cushions.

She said, “What?”

Byron groaned.

She sat up and looked over the back of the couch. Carla sat by herself at the dining room table. She had a tea cup and an orange on a plate. She’d peeled the orange and pulled apart the wedges. She pushed one of the orange wedges past her lips, looked over at Chey, and smiled with a full mouth.

“Fuck,” Chey hissed and hunkered down with Byron again.

Byron was sitting on the floor and pulling his shorts on. “How long has she been sitting there?”

From the other side of the couch, Carla said, “Long enough to know Cheyenne wants you to watch her with Cody.”