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Chapter 1

No Sins As Long As There’s Permission

Tori & Kevin

The way his shaft was rubbing against my clitoris gave me a feeling I had never had during sex before. He rotated his pelvis like he was dancing to a reggae song, with a little force and a whole lot of passion. It felt entirely too good.

Meanwhile, the other he was getting his dick sucked. I watched out the corner of my eye. Yes, there were two he’s in the room. One he was penetrating me and the other was my husband, Kevin.

This was Kevin and my first trip to Puss & Boots, an exclusive swingers club in Atlanta. It was a surprise for Kevin’s thirtieth birthday. I blindfolded him and we jumped in the back of a town car. I walked him inside the club and didn’t remove his blindfold until we were smack dead in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by nudity and sexual acts. He was pleasantly surprised. His dick got hard in point two seconds. We were already drunk from the rounds of Amsterdam we had consumed earlier at Cheetah’s, a strip club we frequented.

Our being intoxicated—mixed with the excitement of all that was happening around us—removed any reservations. Kevin laid me down right there on the dance floor. He pulled his dick through the zipper of his jeans and lifted my dress. I wasn’t wearing any panties—I never did when Kevin and I went to Cheetah’s. I don’t think I need to explain.

He inserted his horny, erect dick into me. And we had sex right there between two women dancing with each other and a couple sipping drinks talking about who they wanted to fuck that night. We didn’t care if anyone was watching us. In fact, we hoped people were watching. It added to the pleasure.

We ended up only fucking each other once, although we did interact with other couples, Kevin fondling a titty here, me jerking a dick there. It was fun. Exciting. Gave our new marriage the spark I thought it needed.

I know what you’re thinking. Why would a new marriage need spark? Well, here’s the thing: Kevin and I may have only been married a year but we’d been together for ten. We met in college. I was a freshman, he, a junior. We started dating immediately. We’ve been inseparable since. So my entire college experience was null and void. No parties, no hangovers, no one-night stands. I was a girlfriend the whole time. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it. I loved Kevin. He loved me, deeply. We had our own fun together, and I didn’t feel like I was missing out on anything at the time. But now I was pushing thirty. Already married. Having kids was a daily discussion in our household, mainly brought up by Kevin. I felt like any chances of me experimenting with my wilder side were soon to be over. And I was afraid of that. I wished I had just gotten it all out of my system in college. But Kevin came too soon. No pun intended. So there I was, trying to inject all that I had missed out on into our marriage. He was going along with it too. And what man wouldn’t?

The circular movement increased in speed. My clitoris was dancing with joy. My senses heightened. I could hear my heartbeat racing through my chest. My body jerked. For a millisecond I was scared. But the wave of vibrations that came next, starting from my head and ending in my toes, transformed fear into an emotion I couldn’t yet identify. I blurted out some words, or should I say sounds. My thighs shook. Then there was this release. I felt completely at ease. This was a first for me, and by the look on his face, it was a first for him too.

In ten years of being with Kevin, I had never had an orgasm. But after only twenty-two minutes, I was experiencing my very first one with a guy I was meeting for the first time. A tear rolled out from the corner of my eye. It slid backward toward my ear. I hoped Kevin didn’t see it. The room was pretty dim so maybe not. I didn’t want to wipe it and bring attention to it, so I left it to evaporate. Maybe it would disguise itself as sweat.

I couldn’t seem to turn my head away from him. Even though I wanted bad to look over at my husband, assure him I was still his. But I was paralyzed. Or maybe just my eyes were. Fixated on his. Apparently his had the same paralysis. Our gaze was unbreakable. I could only imagine how Kevin was feeling. If it were me, I’d be a disaster. I’d probably throw a temper tantrum. It would definitely be time to go. I was waiting for the tug, but an abrupt laughter broke out instead. From her.

It dislocated our gaze, which I was sure was its purpose. I looked over at Kevin while the other he carefully slid out of me. Well, maybe he wasn’t being careful. It felt more like reluctance. I smiled at Kevin, hoping he couldn’t tell it was forced. He grinned. Or maybe grimaced. It was dark.

I sat up slowly, taking time to glance over at his wife. Her laugh was just tapering off. I gave her a fake smile too—well, an uncomfortable smile.

She returned it as she patted her husband’s butt. “He’s great, isn’t he?” These were the first words I heard after my first climax. I would always remember them.

Kevin was watching me closely. I could feel his eyes. He was waiting for me to say the wrong thing. I wasn’t going to answer. I was sure the question was rhetorical anyway. As if the orgasm didn’t tell it all. No need to fan the flames.

“You think we should exchange numbers?” he asked, pulling his black boxer briefs over his perfectly sculpted pelvis. He could have been an underwear model—he was a hell of a specimen. His honey-toned skin was so smooth it looked like it was painted onto his muscular arms and brick-like abs. He was hairless. No tattoos. His features were pronounced: dark eyebrows that appeared naturally arched, tiny light brown eyes the same color as his skin, well-defined cheekbones, a thin pointed nose, and crescent-shaped lips that had some plump to them. They gave me all sorts of ideas.

“We’ll see each other again,” his wife said, nodding at Kevin and me. Her eyes were low, though, almost closed. She wasn’t being sincere. I couldn’t blame her. It was obvious her husband had never brought her to the place he had gotten me to.

Kevin didn’t respond. He was in the same boat as her, I guessed. I was sure he’d prefer it if this was the last time we saw each other. He looked at me. “Tori?”

I played along with her. “Sure we will.”

“Well that was fun,” she concluded, standing up, a white towel covering only the bottom half of her nude body. She was a white woman, but tanned to perfection. Her makeup was flawless. She wore her blond hair straight down her back. It was clear she worked out too. That was one thing the two had in common: she was in as good as shape as he was. I must say, she looked great for an older woman. Not that she had revealed her age to us, but I was privy to knowledge that she was a cougar—a sugar mama, actually. Their relationship appeared more like mother/son than husband/wife.

She grabbed his hand, and before the goodbye that was sitting on his lips could jump off, she squeezed it. I didn’t see her do it, but I caught his reaction and he didn’t say goodbye. Thinking back, that is another thing I regret about that night. Maybe had he said those words, it would have been the end of it. Maybe it would have been the last time we saw each other.

Kevin gathered our towels, handing me mine. I used the tip to wipe away my bodily fluids. While I felt around for my shoes, he finally spoke his mind.

“What the hell happened?”

I landed on one shoe and slid my foot in. “What do you mean?”

“Did he . . . did you . . . ?”

I put my hand up to my husband’s face, palming the right side. He was no underwear-model prototype, but he was mine. His average build and common features were what I loved about him. I looked him in his eyes. “It doesn’t even matter. This is all about you tonight. Did you enjoy yourself?”

He moved my hand from his face, nodded his head, and mumbled, “It was cool.” Yet his entire demeanor told a different story.

“Baby, I did this for you,” I whined. “I worked on this surprise for months, please don’t let it end like this.”

I wanted him to walk out of the club with the same excitement and thrill that he felt when he’d walked in and I removed his blindfold.

“It’s cool. Let’s go.”

“No, it’s not.” I understood how he felt. Like I said, if the shoe were on the other foot—well, in this case, if the condom was on the other dick—I would have been feeling some type of way too. But I didn’t want that for him. It was his birthday. His thirtieth at that. A trip to a swingers club was supposed to have been the surprise of a lifetime.

In my heels I came to his chin. I started kissing him on his neck, chin, and bottom lip. I wrapped my arms around his neck. I imagined it was he who had made me reach my peak. My energy began to transfer to him and his guard slowly receded.

“You are the only man I want and need. Don’t you ever forget that. What we did tonight was a milestone in our relationship. Something for the books. And as long as it’s a we thing, it shouldn’t be a bad thing.”

His arms found their way around my waist, hands crossed on my butt. I had reclaimed him.

“You’re right,” he said. “As long as we only do it together. All or none.”

“And as long as at the end of the day, we know who we each belong to,” I added.

And with that we sealed an allegiance. No signatures, just our words and our hearts—ironically, two of mankind’s most susceptible, breakable elements. Truth was, neither one of us knew what we had gotten ourselves into. Yet somehow we thought we’d mastered it.

Danielle & Stewart

As Stewart pulled into the parking lot, I slid a Molly under my tongue and took a swig of the Deer Park water I had in the cup holder. I adjusted the pasties on my pink nipples, then pulled close my chinchilla to cover my breasts. As I stepped out of the passenger seat of our latest purchase, my coat brushed the concrete. I felt so damn sexy.

“Welcome back, Mrs. Oxford,” said the valet who rushed to my door the moment we pulled the Lotus into the lot.

“Thank you, honey,” I purred at the young guy.

On the other side of the car stood Stewart, my tall, husky, handsomely bald husband. Everybody thought he was an athlete. We let them believe that. Our lifestyle supported the theory and it was better than telling them what we really did for a living.

Stewart peeled a hundred-dollar bill from a wad that rested atop the stack of flyers he had in his hand for our annual Christmas party. He gave the bill to the valet—the very reason it nearly became a relay race between the attendants every time we pulled up. It was like seeing Ed McMahon coming: payday.

“You know what to do with it,” he told the guy.

The valet looked at the bill before folding it in his hand and nodding. “Thank you, sir.” He took Stewart’s place in the driver’s seat.

Trying to steal one last glimpse of myself in the car’s chrome body, I caught the reflection of the club’s neon Puss & Boots sign. And boy did I feel at home.

An overdressed Stewart, in his blazer, V-neck, jeans, and loafers, used the hand that wasn’t stuffed with flyers to open the club’s door for me. He was such a gentleman. Upon entering, we were greeted by Kelsey, a beautiful, tall, slender, tanned brunette. She could’ve easily been a Kardashian, down to the K name. The only thing she was missing was a lot of ass. She had a little bump but nothing that could stand beside that Kardashian clan.

Anyway, she was the manager, and to prove that point she wore a tie on top of her bra, and instead of just panties or a thong like the other female employees wore, she opted for a miniskirt. Or the occasional pair of booty shorts.

“Mr. and Mrs. Oxford,” Kelsey smiled, reaching her hand out to accept my fur as Stewart stripped it off my back. “Looking stunning as usual,” she said to my nakedness.

“Thank you, darling,” I ate it right up. I loved compliments.

“Did Sofia clean our room?” Stewart asked Kelsey’s back as she walked toward the office carrying my coat.

“She sure did,” Kelsey called from inside the office, then returned with a key which she placed in Stewart’s palm. “She left about a half hour ago. Said she locked up.”

Sofia was our housekeeper and the only person we trusted to clean our room at Puss & Boots.

“Is Lyssa here?” I asked Kelsey. “Her tongue and my pussy have a lunch date.”

Stewart smirked and shook his head. “Danielle won the costume contest last month,” he explained.

“I remember,” Kelsey grinned. “And she’s been trying to get you to her house ever since. You know, she and Jake are very strict about doing anything here. They don’t like mixing business and pleasure.”

“I’ll do her one better,” I said as I reached over and grabbed the stack of flyers from my husband’s grip. I passed one to Kelsey. “She can come to our house. We’re having our annual Christmas party . . .” Handing the flyers back to my husband I added, “You tell her she has no more excuses.”

Kelsey glanced over the flyer and nodded.

I cupped my breasts and mashed them together. “You ready?” I looked at my husband.

He extended his free hand. “After you.”

We opened the door that separated the real world from our fantasy and I strutted through. There were nude bodies everywhere: on the dance floor under strobe lights, at the bar carrying on casual conversations, in the dining area soaking up alcohol with food from the buffet, in the Jacuzzi, the pool, around the billiards table, scattered on leather couches and oversized daybeds. It was like the Garden of Eden, except Adam and Eve were multiplied by about fifty and that serpent that we know as temptation was the life of the party.

“A Cîroc Coconut,” I told Nina, one of the scantily clad bartenders who stopped what she was doing to come over and take our drink order.

A cute couple at the bar who had witnessed the special service looked our way. They had to be wondering who we were to deserve it. Game time, I thought, and I took that opportunity to introduce myself. It was ritual.

“I love your breasts,” I complimented the golden-complexioned woman. Flatter first. Then probe. “Did you get those done here in Atlanta?”

The woman smiled bashfully. She was a newcomer. Great.

“Thank you,” she said. “Texas.”

Just what I wanted to hear. She was an out-of-towner. Stewart and I preferred out-of-towners. That way, the chances of us ever seeing them again were slim to none. I had to be certain, though, so I hit her with a follow-up question.

“Are you visiting? Or are you like most Atlantans and you migrated here?” By now, my drink was in front of me. I grabbed it and sipped.

“Visiting,” the woman replied, still smiling. Then she looked over her shoulder at the pale-skinned, light-haired, thin guy she was with. Perhaps she felt like he was being left out.

That was Stewart’s cue. And he took it. His hand extended to the guy, he said, “How you doin’, man? I’m Stew.”

The guy let go of his cup, shook his hand a little to rid his palm of moisture, and received Stewart’s handshake. “Brent,” he said.

We women followed suit.

“I’m Victoria.” She placed her hand on those titties I liked so much.

“And I’m—”

“Danielle,” Victoria beat me to the end of my sentence. “I heard the bartender say, Here comes Danielle.”

“Oh you did, did you?” Then I paused my conversation with Victoria. “Aye, Nina!” I projected over the music and chatter.

She darted my way. “Another one, Mrs. Oxford?”

I leaned in, my ear as close to her mouth as the counter between us would allow. “Mrs. Oxford, you say?” I winked at Victoria. She couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yes,” Nina answered matter-of-factly.

“Oh, okay.” I straightened back up. “Just was making sure you knew the correct way to address me.”

“Of course.” Nina put on a chipper smile, then shot a quick, cold glance at Victoria and Brent.

I loved power as much as I did compliments. And from the looks on Brent’s and Victoria’s faces, they loved that I had it. They were hooked. Now I just had to reel them in.

“Good,” I said to Nina. “Now, could you get that sexy gentleman over there,” I motioned toward Brent, “another one of whatever he was drinking?”

“Sure thing,” she replied, scurrying to fulfill my request.

Then I got back to business. “Well, now that the introductions are out of the way, would you two like to see our room?”

Victoria’s smile widened along with her glassy eyes. “Your room?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not typical customers. We have a pretty unique relationship with the owners.” I sipped my drink.

“We’ve noticed,” Brent chimed in.

Make them feel like tonight is their lucky night. “So it looks like you two have a bit of beginner’s luck. First time here, visiting from Texas, and you stumble upon the VIP couple with their own room,” I smiled. Now go in for the kill. I took the pineapple slice off my cup and, looking Victoria deep in her hazel eyes, stuck my tongue through the small gap in the center of it. I slowly moved my tongue up and down. Either the Molly had kicked in or I was becoming a better actress by the minute. Whatever the case, I got her.

“I’d like to see your room,” Victoria said in a sexy little whisper. Then she gazed over her shoulder at Brent again.

He shrugged.

“It’s laid out too,” Stewart assured.

Victoria got up from her barstool and she and Brent fell in line behind Stewart and me, off to our VIP room. One couple down.

In the hallway where our room was, there were six private rooms total. And I don’t mean private in the sense of belonging to one particular couple like ours belonged exclusively to us. I mean they had doors that could be closed and locked, whereas the other rooms and areas in the back of the club were open for all to see and congregate. Those areas were usually packed with people having orgies. Basically, whoever was in close proximity to you and your mate was whom you ended up swapping with. And it usually happened without much talk or thought. Like one minute you would be giving your man head and the next some random girl was sharing the task with you. Then you’d feel someone fingering you while someone else was rubbing your breasts. And before you knew it, you were engaged in all kinds of sex with all kinds of people. It was fun in our younger days when we were wild and free. But now we did what we did because it actually served a purpose in our lives. I mean, the selection process and the privacy were great, but we did it this way for the end goal—the bigger picture.

On the way to our room, some familiar faces greeted us. Others just stared. They seemed to think we owned the place. Why else could Stewart be fully dressed in the section of the club where signs clearly stated, No Clothes Permitted Beyond this Point? My answer would be, if anyone ever asked, We paid the price. I laughed at my own thoughts. But it was fact. Stewart and I paid close to ten grand to renovate our room to our liking, plus we paid twice the yearly membership fee everyone else did. So we could do what we pleased.

We were like celebrities at Puss & Boots, and the couple tailing us were groupies who had lucked out and been chosen from the crowd. I laughed at myself again. No one noticed though. Everybody was back to moaning and groaning. Licking and sticking. I loved it too. This was my scene.

We approached our door. Stewart dug in his jeans pocket and pulled out a key, the one Kelsey had given him. He put it back and retrieved a different one, which he used to unlock the door.

Inside the room, Victoria and Brent really opened up. It could’ve been the room itself: the leather walls, mirrored mosaic ceilings, plush custom bed, and flat screen looping our favorite porn flicks. Or the fact that they had both finished their drinks. The privacy might have been a factor too. It all worked in our favor.

Without any instruction or guidance, Victoria started undressing Stewart. Brent, watching his naked woman position herself to go down on another man, began lightly stroking his white dick. I decided to match Victoria and give her man the same pleasure she was now giving mine.

We were both on our knees, pulling dicks in and out of our mouths, and I felt myself getting wetter and wetter. I initiated our move from the middle of the floor to the circular rotating bed. That was our main attraction. That and the swing.

I laid on my back, bringing Brent’s dick to my face. I felt my legs being parted. And from under Brent’s balls I could see a head full of long silky black hair moving down between my thighs. My husband was bald, so go figure.

Victoria licked away at my clitoris while Stewart seized the opportunity to penetrate her from the back. Of course, he put on a condom first. That was our one rule.

She squealed at first, surprised by his size. “Is that thing real?”

I caressed her shoulders and told my husband to take it easy. What she was doing to me was too good to be interrupted by every painful stroke.

He slowed his tempo, which made the whole show that much better. His facial expressions were priceless. The amount of pleasure he had to be feeling to make those faces aroused me even more.

I turned my attention back to the head of hair between my legs. I rubbed my fingers through it, and on occasion I would palm the head to keep it right in a particular spot. Simultaneously I would push my hips forward as if I were riding her tongue. It created a nice juicy pressure against my clit. It made me gasp. And whenever I did, it allowed her guy’s dick to coast deeper down my throat. And he was taking full advantage of those moments. A few times, causing me to gag. But it was the nature of having sex in a group. Everyone wanted to seize every opportunity to be pleased beyond his or her wildest dreams.

As he pumped, she licked, and I sucked, it was like an assembly line. We switched positions numerous times before all of us had orgasms—the men cumming twice apiece. It was spectacular. More than I expected from the seemingly shy couple from Texas.

At the end, I stretched out on the bed and just smiled. My whole body felt jubilant.

“You guys smoke?” Stewart asked, from his seat on the edge of the bed.

Victoria smiled her answer. Brent said, “It’s been awhile, but what the hell . . .”

Stewart stood up, picked his jeans up off the floor, and slipped them on. Then he walked over to our stash spot behind the TV screen. He pulled out the rolling papers, the marijuana, and the lighter. I just watched him, admiring his sex appeal. It amazed me that after eight years together and six married, I was still mesmerized by his every movement.

Victoria and Brent wrapped their Puss & Boots–stamped white towels around their waists. Stewart prepared our session. In the next couple hours, Stewart and I would smoke, eat, fill up on more drinks, and do it all over again with another unsuspecting couple. It was all ritual. Thursday through Sunday, ten p.m. till three, maybe four a.m., ongoing until we pressed Stop Record on the hidden camera in our VIP room. It was genius.

JuJu & Ferrari

Getting back into their clothes in the locker room, JuJu and Ferrari exchanged not one word. Their silence left them to their thoughts. His—of that moment and how fucking magical it had been. The power he had over a human body. The earthquake that erupted in her flesh. How her mouth opened to scream but she could barely produce a whisper. The tear. He did that. And he felt proud. It gave him a cheerfulness he couldn’t mask, no matter how hard he tried.

JuJu’s thoughts paralleled Ferrari’s but the feeling she got when she replayed the moment was far different. There was no sense of pride. She was envious. This fresh-faced first-timer got to experience something with her husband that she had been trying to achieve for years. The reason she introduced the idea of occasional visits to a swingers club in the first place was to find somebody who could give her an orgasm.

“JuJu, Ferrari!” a voice squealed.

The couple looked around the corner and located the face.

“Danielle and Stew,” JuJu smiled.

“It’s been a long time.” Danielle caressed Ferrari’s pecs. “What occasion brings you two here tonight?”

“We’re celebrating five years today,” JuJu answered.

“Congratulations,” Stew said, holding up his Heineken bottle.

“Thanks, man,” Ferrari said.

“Why are you leaving already?” Danielle asked. “I wanna give you two an anniversary present.” She fell to her knees and immediately started motor-boating Ferrari’s package.

The group laughed as she stood back up.

“You know, I’ve been dying to do that,” Danielle slurred.

“One day,” JuJu said. “We have an early flight tomorrow.”

“Where are you guys going?” Stewart asked.

“Tahiti,” JuJu answered. “I got us a nice bungalow over the water. We’re gonna rekindle our romance.”

“Sweet,” Stewart said, nodding his head.

Danielle reached out and gently squeezed both of JuJu’s breasts. “Well, if y’all want some company, Stew and I can fly out there in a couple days.” She winked at Ferrari while still having her way with his wife’s breasts.

“Excuse my wife,” Stewart interjected, “she’s a ball of sex drive.”

“It’s cool,” Ferrari said, a slight smile on his face. “Next time we come we have to . . .”

“Yes, definitely,” JuJu cosigned. “Next time.” She kissed Danielle on her lips and then gently removed her hands from her breasts. “Can’t you see this girl’s in heat, Stew? Go get her some dick . . . or some pussy.”

They all laughed again.

“Yeah, I better before she rapes one of you,” Stew added to the comedy.

Moments later, JuJu and Ferrari were completely dressed and ready to leave the locker room.

“Well, it was good seeing you,” JuJu said as she headed to the door.

“Oh, wait,” Danielle stopped the couple. “Honey, give them a flyer.”

“Oh yeah, of course.” Stewart dug in his back pocket. He pulled out a flyer and handed it to Ferrari. “We’re having our annual Christmas party.”

“Come out,” Danielle encouraged, “we’re going to have live shows, contests, the works. If you leave without having an orgasm you can sue us for all we got.” She giggled.

The word orgasm caught their attention. JuJu was thinking that the Christmas party might give her what she had been so desperately looking for. Ferrari was thinking that perhaps he could recapture the experience he’d had that night. It was his first time making a woman cum, and he didn’t want it to be his last.

“We’ll be there,” JuJu said.

“Yeah, for sure,” Ferrari agreed.

“Great,” Danielle said, kissing each of them on their lips one last time.

“Y’all enjoy your trip,” Stewart said as the couple walked out of the locker room.

“Thanks!” JuJu yelled back. Ferrari waved goodbye.

Outside, the cold air was a major contrast to the steamy humidity of Puss & Boots. JuJu gave the valet her ticket and he fled to get the couple’s vehicle.

“Is everything all right?” Ferrari asked his wife while they waited for their car to pull up.

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“You told Danielle and Stew we were going to Tahiti tomorrow.”

“Everything’s fine,” JuJu said with a roll of her eyes.

“Why did you tell them that?”

JuJu’s eyes suddenly squinted with fury, her lips tightened. “Because I did. Why are you questioning me?”

Their car arrived. In a snap JuJu put on a smile and tipped the valet. She hurried into the driver’s seat, while Ferrari reluctantly got in the other side. Their ride home was as silent as their locker room experience before Danielle and Stewart had breathed life into it.

Ferrari took the opportunity to pretend to fall asleep. His mind, though, was spinning. He couldn’t believe he had finally met his infatuation in person and had the chance to make love to her—something he had dreamed about for almost a year. Ever since he had seen those words on her Facebook page: One is not wealthy until he has things money cannot buy. He had simply written under it, This couldn’t be more true. And that had sparked a cyber affair he never saw coming. Over the ensuing months, he told himself numerous times he would end it, usually after JuJu discovered a message or two and threatened him. But he couldn’t help himself. Despite all the number changes, deleted online accounts, and spying by JuJu, he always managed to find his way back to his computer love. And tonight was his dream manifested.

The rumbling of the garage door pulled the plug on Ferrari’s thoughts. He hadn’t gotten both eyes open before he noticed JuJu’s arm extended over his left knee. He jumped with fear.

“What did I do?” He knew what it meant when JuJu went inside the glove compartment after pulling into their garage. Although the sex between he and Tori had been premeditated, JuJu didn’t know this and so she had no right to be angry with him. At least that’s how he saw it.

JuJu ignored his question. She pulled out a black rectangular device and Ferrari went for the door. It was locked, of course, and in that split second Ferrari felt the shock of JuJu’s taser disrupt his muscle control. She laughed wickedly as she watched his big body contract at her will.

“You wanna make a bitch tremble?” she asked. “Well, so do I!”

JuJu sent enough electricity through Ferrari to turn his pretend sleep real. His eyes closed and his head drooped. This was her indication to take her finger off the trigger. She reached over her husband’s jittery leg, put the weapon back in the glove compartment, and retrieved a couple napkins. She pulled down the mirror from above the driver’s seat and stared at her reflection as she patted the beads of sweat that had gathered across her forehead.

She closed the mirror, balled the napkin, and threw it at her unconscious husband. She then pressed her thumb into the remote that was clipped to the mirror, bringing the garage door back down. She got out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition and the engine running, and headed inside.

“That’s why I told them we were going to Tahiti,” she mumbled, “if you must know.” She removed her coat. “I’m gonna need a couple uninterrupted days to get you back in line.”

Lyssa & Jacob

“Uhnnnn, uhnnnn, szzzz,” I moaned through my clenched teeth.

I enjoyed all kinds of sexual positions but being scissored was one I’d come to love. And my live-in, Morgan, had it down to a science. She made sure our clitorises were perfectly aligned and then she’d aggressively twirl her hips like she was in a hula-hoop competition. It always made me cum. Tonight was no different.

“Szzzzz, oh God!” I shrieked.

Morgan was sure to keep her movement steady until I was completely done. Stopping midway might be cause for a dock in her pay. She had learned that lesson the first week on the job.

“You done?” Jacob whispered in my ear from his position behind me. His hands were planted on my boobs, fingers paying special attention to my nipples.

I nodded, accompanying my response was a wet kiss. My husband reciprocated. Morgan watched our tongues dance in each other’s mouths while she gently stroked Jacob’s thigh. It was his turn next.

I sat up, leaning my back against the headboard, and lit a cigarette. The only time I’d ever smoke was after sex. I didn’t know why. Jacob wanted me to quit. But I would always tell him, you can’t quit a habit you don’t have. Seriously, smoking was never a vice of mine. Other than after orgasms, I never even thought about cigarettes.

I puffed and dragged while Morgan gave my husband a blowjob. I watched her jaws expand and contract with every motion. Jacob’s hand palmed the crown of her head like it was a basketball. I didn’t know if he was guiding her movement or just following it. His face was scrunched up like he couldn’t stand it, yet I knew he loved every minute. Just like he used to with me. I couldn’t remember the last time I had given my husband head, but I did remember how much he used to enjoy it.

Since we started hiring live-ins, two years earlier when our youngest went away to college, my wifely duties had been cut down significantly. And where sex used to be a chore for me, live-ins made it pleasurable—as pleasurable as it had always been for my husband. Now we were on a level playing field. Our sex drives were compatible, thus our love life was incredible.

It was that very change in momentum that had brought the urge to open a swingers club. We wanted other couples to get to that same space of complete sexual fulfillment. And Puss & Boots was just the place that allowed this to happen. The name was our first choice, and although we considered others, we stuck with our gut. We used our retirement money to open it, and it turned out to be one of the best investments we’d ever made. Who knew so many people, from all walks of life, would be into swapping partners?

Two years and one hundred fifty memberships later, we were able to live good off our club, and when I say good, I mean we could afford extras like a housekeeper, a daily dining-out habit, and of course our live-ins.

Live-ins got five hundred a week plus they stayed with us rent-free. All their utilities including cable and Internet were taken care of. Meals, cell phone, and car expenses were on us. A live-in paid only for her personal hygiene items and outings or trips she wanted to go on without us. That way, she could save up for a place of her own, for tuition, or for whatever else she wanted to do. In exchange, Jake and I got sex on demand. It was a win-win.

We usually hired a different live-in every two or three months. That was about how long they generally needed to accumulate enough money for whatever it was they were trying to achieve. For us, it helped in preventing boredom.

We met our first live-in when we were in New Orleans. We had gone down there one year for the Essence Music Festival and one night we got entirely too drunk. We dipped into one of the many clubs that line Bourbon Street to retreat from the ninety-degree heat.

We didn’t even realize until we were shoving dollar bills down a girl’s thong that we were in a strip club. It was all a drunken blur. At some point we got a lap dance from a girl from Atlanta, our hometown. Indeed, she was the first girl to ever make me second-guess my sexuality. We spent the rest of our night getting lap dances from her. Then we invited her to our hotel room. We had the best sex. We paid her well and I made a simple comment that would change our lives for good.

“I wish I could take you home with me,” I said, joking but serious.

“You can,” was her response. “Are you two into having a live-in?”

Neither Jake nor I knew what that was. A nanny was the first thing that came to my mind.

“Both our kids are grown and out of the house,” I told her.

“That’s perfect—we won’t have to hide from anybody.”

Then I understood that what she was referring to had nothing to do with babysitting. Jacob and I took her number. We discussed it at breakfast, lunch, and dinner the next day. We weighed pros and cons. By the time we landed back in Atlanta three days later, we were calling the girl to set it up.

Her name was Jasmine. She had moved to New Orleans to live with a boyfriend after high school. He became abusive and she left him. Stripping was a way for her to support herself. But it wasn’t panning out the way she’d hoped. She had heard of girls getting more money and stability by becoming live-ins to wealthy couples. She wanted that opportunity for herself. And Atlanta was familiar territory for her, so we fit the bill.

She moved in with us a month after she had danced her way into our lives. She showed us so much about sex and how to achieve true ecstasy. She was a gift. She left us at the end of three months, but not before she showed us how to look for our next live-in.

There were two websites she introduced us to, TheRedLightCenter.com and SwingLifestyle.com. The first one caught Jake and I totally off guard. It’s a virtual world of partying, drinking, vacationing, socializing, and of course having sex with random people. You create an avatar that is very lifelike. Then you virtually interact with people as you would in the real world. You find someone compatible for you and you end up having virtual sex with him or her and, if interested, you can arrange to meet in person and have actual live sex. A lot of people in our lifestyle go on that site to find fuck buddies.

It was intriguing, but Jake and I found SwingLifestyle.com to be more our speed. First of all, it was filled with single females. Second of all, it was simple. You sign up to be a member, set up a profile, and seek out single females who fit the bill. You can find parties, groups, clubs, and even read stories by other swingers. There had been many occasions where Jake and I had gotten extremely horny simply visiting the site.

It was the best resource Jasmine could’ve led us to. And every time we went on SwingLifestyle to search out our next prospect, I thought about her, wondering if her profile would pop up.

Anyway, Jacob and I adapted to our new lifestyle quite well. While we were comfortable with it and open in our own way, our children didn’t know about it. Neither did the rest of our family or close friends. Only our live-ins and our Puss & Boots members. We liked it that way. A double life wasn’t as hard to lead as we initially feared. And it actually made the whole thing more exciting. We were content.

* * *

Jake’s body jolted. He was cumming. I put out my cigarette and joined Morgan at the base of my husband’s penis. She licked one side, I did the other, our tongues collecting his semen. We swallowed and then kissed each other, passionately, sloppily. We caressed and then nibbled on each other’s breasts. This got us all aroused again. Jake positioned me on all fours and, parting my lips, entered me from behind. Morgan placed her lower half beneath my face and began sliding her fingers up and down her slit. Watching her kept me good and lubricated for my husband’s pleasure. We were both headed toward a second orgasm and there was no better way to spend my Saturday night.