Chapter 6

Poor Burt. He hasn't written a word in more than a month, not since that morning I wasn't feeling well and came home unexpectedly to find him trying to hide his manuscript as he jumped up from the desk. I didn't say anything to him right then, because I could see he was terribly embarrassed, but when he went out that afternoon I read every sentence. It made me mad, the way he'd told about me so intimately, intending it for publication and all.

The more I thought about it, lying in bed with a fever, the madder I got. I guess I sort of gave him hell when he came home that night. In fact, I sort of gave him hell for three weeks there. He was a darling through it all though, and last week I again read what he'd written so far and several books he brought home for me to compare it with, all of them about swappers or swingers or whatever you want to call spouse-approved extracurricular sex activities.

You know, I think he's a pretty fair writer. He's taking a writing course by correspondence and is about three fourths finished with it. Well, to make a long story very short -- after reading those other books I could see he'd done a damned good job of writing about us. Our situation, the way we got into swinging, is different than most, and I finally told him it wouldn't bother me too much if he finished it, but that I wanted to see if I couldn't write a chapter or two myself. So here goes. Oh ... in case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm Willa.

I just love the way Burt gets so passionate when he sees me with another guy. I've had a whole bunch of different guys since Woody, and much as I find it thrilling, the variety, I actually think I enjoy my husband's reaction more than I enjoy the physical part of it. Watching him make it with another wife turns me on pretty much, but nothing like him watching me get it does him.

Maybe I shouldn't admit it, because Burt doesn't know anything about my sex life before we started going together, but I wasn't nearly the sweet innocent thing he thought. Oh, I was a virgin, all right -- in my vagina -- but only because all the guys I'd gone with before Burt asked if they could instead of doing it. There was at least a dozen times I would've given in if the guy I was with had been man enough to take me instead of asking. Burt didn't ask. He simply got me all worked-up and pushed me down and shoved it in me before I could tell him no. I was glad I still had my hymen intact for him, because he's the only man I've ever really loved, but the minute he penetrated me I flipped and I've loved it ever since.

Burt's right. I do love to fuck. Is that so terrible for a girl to say in this day and age? I don't think so and neither does my husband. Neither of us buy the old double standard. We love each other and when we get together it's great, but both of us like to ball others too. We've been swinging for more than a year now, really having a blast, and I guess we'll keep on since there's no good reason not to and we like it so well. I want to have a baby, maybe two of them, in a year or two or three from now, and I want to be sure they're Burt's, so I guess well take a vacation from swinging then. But until then ...

I've never been prudish about sex. Just particular. Before Burt, I'd petted to orgasm with several different guys who appealed to me, but only two of them lasted more than just a few dates.

One was my math instructor in college. He was cute, even if he was fifty and married and very uptight. He liked my feet the way Burt likes my hair, and since I was almost failing math he got my feet. He gave me a B in math and I gave him a A in sole-licking and toe-sucking. He was so great at it that I really dug it after the first time. About once a week he'd wash my feet with his tongue, always breathing deeply, to take in the aroma as he bared my feet. I took to wearing sneakers so I could wear heavy socks and get my feet nice and sweaty and smelly for him. Once I went for a whole week without washing my feet, wearing my heavy socks day and night and taking off my sneakers only to sleep. When the math instructor knelt in front of the chair I was sitting on and took off my sneakers and socks, I thought the strong smell would knock me over. But it excited him terribly! He freaked out completely, kissing and licking my feet and massaging them with his hands and rubbing his face over them. There was a sticky sort of goo between my toes, and he wedged his tongue in and out of them till he'd licked them clean. The poor dear got so overwhelmed he had a mild heart attack and he stayed away from me after that.

Then there was this tall, slender Mexican boy. He was a student too, but older, going on the G.I. Bill. He was a fine arts major and had the most sensitive eyes and the biggest penis! I was fascinated with his cock. On our very first date he took it out and forced my hand on it. We were kissing while he did that, and his tongue was screwing my mouth and I already had the idea before he pushed my head down in his lap. It was the first time for me, but it came no naturally I went wild and sucked him all the way off. He had one helluva load built up, but I swallowed it all and went right on sucking. I loved it so much that I barely knew he was moving around and starting to go down on me too. We were so passionate his dong never went soft between times and I kept it in my mouth till he'd shot off three times and I'd come twice.

Maybe I should take that out about the math instructor and the Mexican boy, since Burt doesn't know about them and I don't know what he'd think, but both of them were highlights in my sex life so I think I'll leave it in. I know, I'll insist on mailing off the manuscript when Burt's finished it. I'll put what I've written in without letting him read it and make him wait till it gets printed. It'll serve him right for being so sneaky about this whole thing in the first place, and I don't really think he'll mind because we're very open with each other now. There were also two kinky things that happened to me since Burt and I started swinging, so I'll tell about them.

I didn't get a vacation last summer because I'd just started to work, and Woody's business was really hopping so he decided not to take one during the summer either. Anne wanted to go to the West Coast like Woody had promised to take her, so she came up with the idea that she and Burt would go on vacation and Woody and I should shack up together while they were gone. We tossed the idea around for a couple of days and decided why not? It was nearly a month after the first time we'd swapped up in Ruidoso, and we were as close as any four people could get by then.

Burt and Anne had been gone a week, and Woody and I were getting on real good. But we were starting to get bored a little, so when he suggested we go over to Juarez that Saturday night I was all for it. I'd never been over there at night, even though I'd lived in El Paso since I was ten (Dad was stationed at Bliss back then, and when Mom and him divorced, she and I stayed on here), and I was curious.

"Put on your knit minidress, why don't you?" Woody asked as he and I dressed in his and Anne's bedroom.

"It's like going naked," I protested. "The way it clings."

"What the hell's the use having it if you don't show if off, Willa? Come on, honey, put it on and give the boys a treat. I want to show you off over there tonight."

I should have known he was up to something no good by the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice. It was nearly ten and we'd already had a few drinks while we watched TV in their den. I didn't dream what he was going to do later in Juarez, and his sensual mood made me feel sort of uninhibited too, so I put on the red knit mini and black high heels, with black lace stockings to match. He slipped into trousers and a sport shirt and we were off.

How many drinks we had or how many shows we saw I couldn't begin to guess. Everything became fuzzy and fun. Woody took me to one place where you can really dance. They don't have any place to sit there; you either stand and watch, or dance. But they do have a bar with no stools, and we kept drinking and dancing till Woody got tired and gave me to a huge Negro soldier. The combo was swinging great, and Glen, the big black, could really dance. I was high enough not to care if he was green even, just so long as he kept on dancing with me.

Finally I had to go to the ladies' room -- it must have been around two in the morning -- and when I came out my dancing partner was gone and Woody took me by the arm and started me toward the door.

On the sidewalk he put his arm around my waist and we strolled toward the car with our hips and thighs rubbing.

"You in the mood to get sexed, baby?"

I wasn't so drunk but what I caught the excitement in his voice, but I didn't realize then what he had in mind. Putting my arm around his waist and giving him a little squeeze, I said, "I think maybe I could be persuaded."

Woody didn't say another word and I didn't either. He hurried me down the block and around the corner to our car, opened the back door and pushed me inside.

"Go at it," he said. "I'll drive around."

Well, I didn't know what the hell he was talking about, because I was staring dumfounded at him as he shut the door and walked around to get in the front seat. I nearly screamed when an arm went around me and pulled me across the seat and another arm was pushing a big hand under my dress and moving it urgently up to my crotch.

"Glen!" I gasped.

It was the Negro I'd been dancing with, there in the backseat of the car with me, fondling my sweat-damp groin as he pressed his lips to mine.

Caught off guard like that, I didn't know what to do! Glen's lips were soft and hot, thicker than any guy's I'd ever kissed, and his hand was doing things under my dress so fast that he had a finger stuck in all the way before I could stop him.

I remember struggling desperately there for a minute as Woody started the car and began driving away from the curb, then Glen had two fingers in me and I was sucking his tongue and hunching his hand and trying to push him away all at the same time. It was one of those completely crazy moments when your mind tells you one thing but the rest of you won't listen.

"Rape her," Woody said, driving calmly down the busy neon-lit main street of Juarez. "That's what she wants, Glen. Pay no attention to what she says or does. This was her idea. She picked you out for it, so throw her down in the seat and give it to her good and rough."

"Woody!" I gasped, ripping my mouth from Glen's and pushing frantically at his hand. "You no good bastard!"

Woody laughed.

I wanted to kill him. "This has gone far enough," I said icily. "He's lying, Glen. Stop it ... stop it this instant!"

Evidently Glen didn't believe me, because he hooked his fingers through the crotchband of my panties and ripped them with one swift jerk, saying, "Gonna fuck you, baby. Gonna give you ten inches of the best cock you ever had!"

My stomach felt funny and my knees went weak all of a sudden. I mean, ten inches! Jesus!

"No!" I shouted, feeling dizzy as he threw me to my back and knelt between my legs, holding me down with one hand as he dropped his pants and shorts with the other. "My husband will have you both arrested! But I will kill you, Woody!"

Glen glanced suspiciously at the back of Woody's head. "Hey, man. You said you was her husband."

"I am her husband," Woody said. "Quit your lying, Willa. Fuck her, Glen. Go on, man! Once you get your dick in her she'll sing a different song. "

As it turned out, I was singing a different song much sooner -- the second Glen's pants fell down and his enormous black cock sprang into view. It was bigger than the Mexican boy's I mentioned, and from sheer force of habit I started salivating at the very sight of it.

"Oh, cats I" I wailed, reaching for it, grabbing it and squeezing it as I tried to pull it to my mouth.

It was absolutely insane and I knew it, but I had to suck him!

"You like my cock, baby?" Glen asked with a grin.

"Yesss ... oh, it's gorgeous! So big ... so black! "

"You want it?"

"Suck it! I wanna suck it! Let me ... please!"

I was trembling all over as Glen scooted to the far corner of the seat and sat back. He didn't even help me, just sat there smirking as I struggled to my knees and bent over him. A loud sigh escaped my quivering lips as I put both hands on his lovely big dong and squeezed a drop of clear fluid out the tiny mouth at the tip of his bulging glans. It was so long there was room for at least another hand. Glen's prick was very hard and hot. I held it tightly as I lowered my face, trying to make my fingers meet around it and loving the way they couldn't because his shaft was so thick.

"Lick it," he whispered.

His message bypassed my brain and went right to my tongue, which darted out and lapped over the entire head of his organ. His clear fluid spread over my taste buds, thrilling me and causing me to shiver. Then my tongue went wild, flashing rapidly as I washed his coal-black prick from the head clear down the shaft till the tip of my tongue was trying to work inside his fly.

He groaned, grabbed my head, lifted it and forced my lips around his glans, then placed his palm on the back of my head and pushed down slowly till his velvety glans was nudging into my throat.

I thought I'd die! I didn't even know his last name and never wanted to see him again. He was a total stranger and a Negro to boot -- but having his big fat cock in my mouth simply turned me to jelly! I forgot about Burt, and everything, moaning constantly as I clamped my lips around his thick rod and bobbed my head frenziedly up and down.

In less than a minute he started panting and hunching his dick. I knew he was ready to come. I wanted him to! Every nerve in me crying for it, I grabbed his ass and sucked all the harder.

"Get it, baby!" I heard Woody exclaim, his voice no longer calm. "Suck that cock!"

In my feverish state of mind, even his vulgar remarks thrilled me. My tongue was in constant contact with the undersurface of Glen's organ, and I could feel it when it began twitching with the onset of orgasm. Whimpering through my nose, I sucked so fiercely my lips were distended and my cheeks were hollowed in to clamp firmly around the jerking peter deep inside my mouth.

"You suck a mean cock!" Glen hissed.

I dug my nails into the cheeks of his tensed butt, hearing him groan with pleasure as I took his blood-engorged cockhead around the crook at the back of my mouth and let it jerk part way into my throat.

"Now!" he gasped, starting to shudder. "Now!"

Before I could act, his organ throbbed and sent a jet of come sailing down my throat. It was a pleasant sensation as it slid down all warm and slick, but I didn't want him coming that far back. I couldn't taste him -- and I wanted to taste his fuck-juice more than anything!

My mind swimming with the total depravity of the act, I pulled back till only his spurting glans remained inside my mouth. Then I could taste him -- God, how I could taste him! He must have been weeks building up that load! I thought he'd never stop coming! He was a virtual reservoir of thick, hot, musky-tasting sperm. I let the delicious stuff wash over my tingling taste buds till my mouth was full of it. Then I swallowed it down and let him squirt my hungry mouth full again.

"Ohhh ... stop ... stop!" Glen wailed, when I went right on sucking as his dong began to go limp.

I couldn't stop. The raging need in my loins demanded I suck it up hard and throbbing again so he could screw me. It wasn't to be, however. I guess I'd drained him or something, because he just grew softer and softer as he moaned about it being too much and complained his penis was hurting. We finally let Glen out of the car and Woody took me back to his house and gave me what I needed.

After it was all over I wasn't mad at Woody any more, but I did feel sort of like a slut, you know? I didn't mention it to Burt when he and Anne came back. In fact, it was about three days after they returned from California when Burt asked me for the first time how I'd liked shacking up with Woody. I told him fine and tried to let it go at that, but he started asking me what we did and all so I finally told him about us going to Juarez and what Woody pulled on me. Burt looked kind of hacked, but he made me tell him everything. We were in bed at the time, and I thought it was exciting him. I expected him to make love to me when I finished telling him about sucking the Negro off, but he got out of bed and dressed and left without telling me where he was going. When he came back, about an hour later, his knuckles were skinned and bleeding. I think he went to see Woody, though he didn't tell me that, because the next day Anne was quite cool toward me at the office. We've never seen Woody and Anne as a couple since then. I still work with Anne, and she and I are friendly enough, but she doesn't invite us to their place, and Burt said I was never to ask them over again.

Things got a little dull sexwise there for a while. It was still good when Burt and I made it together, but after our first swap it seemed sort of tame. Then one Thursday evening things picked up. Burt got home early from his appointments and took me to the shopping center near our house so I could buy a new pair of shoes.

The shoe store was fairly crowded and we had to wait nearly twenty minutes before the clerk could help me. There were only two clerks -- an older woman, and a young slender man of about twenty-two or so with blond wavy hair and a pretty girlish face. I got the guy and was glad of it, because the woman was a grouch. He came over all smiles and asked to help me. I told him vaguely what I wanted, since I didn't know for sure, and he went after three pairs of flats in my size. He sat down on his little stool and took my foot.

"You can't try them on without socks," he said when he'd slipped my right shoe off and discovered I was barefoot.

"I forgot," I said, my foot still in his hand. "They're clean though. I had a bath not more than an hour ago."

"Feels clean and very smooth," he mumbled to himself.

"I use a bath oil."

"Oh," he said, sort of embarrassed that I'd heard him.

"I don't want to buy a pair of socks," I said. "I have plenty."

"Well, I don't know ... feels kind of sweaty," he said slowly, then added quickly, "but I know your foot's not dirty because it smells real nice."

"The bath oil," I explained, beginning to suspect he was stalling so he could hold my foot. "It's scented. Do you like the aroma?"

He nodded and looked up at my face. "It's very nice. You wouldn't believe the stinking feet we get in here! It's a pleasure to wait on someone like you, ma'am."

I wiggled my toes so they tickled his wrist. "Then we can forget the sock business?"

"It's too sweaty," he answered, like he'd like to forget the sock and business altogether.

"What do you expect? I've been waiting a long time."

"I know, and I'm sorry for that ... but the law requires a sock to prevent spread of germs."

"I don't think I have any germs on my feet. Do you?"

His hand shook as he reached into his side coat pocket and came out with one of those footie things. "Maybe if we put this on?"

"I don't like those," I said, frowning. "But all right."

Sweat was beginning to pop out on the young man's forehead as he stretched the non-sock sock over my toes and pulled it taut to hook it over my heel. When he lifted my other foot and took off that shoe, I decided to see just how worked-up I could get him. I let my legs fall apart as he was putting the other footie on my left foot, giving him a good view from his stool. He cleared his throat and wiped his brow, throwing a cautious glance at Burt, who was sitting beside me.

Nervously, the blond young man took a pair of shoes from their box and put them on me, being very careful not to look at what I was deliberately showing him.

"I don't like them. Let's try the next pair."

He took the first pair off and put the second ones on me.

"What do you think, honey?" I asked, holding up my foot so Burt could see the shoes. "Do you like them?"

"They're okay, baby. Get 'em if you like 'em.

"Shall I wrap them or would you like to wear them?" the young salesman asked hopefully.

"No... no, I don't think so. Let's see the others."

"Yes, ma'am," he sighed, and I wasn't sure whether he was disappointed at not making a fast sale, or relieved to have the excuse to handle my feet some more.

I was sure he enjoyed handling my feet, because his hands caressed them much more than was necessary.

"I don't like those at all," I said, stopping him before he put the last pair of shoes on me. "Haven't you got something more feminine? Those look like, boys' shoes, and my feet are much too dainty to wear boys' shoes, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am!"

"Take these back and bring me something casual which you think would look nice on me, why don't you?"

"What color?"

"Tan, I think ... or maybe a soft brown."

"What the hell are you doing to that guy?" Burt asked, as the young man hurried away to get more shoes.

"Giving him a thrill," I whispered. "Do you mind?"

"What?"

"You know how my hair affects you, Burt?"

"Yeah," he answered guardedly.

"I think he goes for my feet in the same way."

"Jesus!"

"He's kind of cute. I'm having fun with him. Can I tease him some more?"

"That's mean, Willa ... if he really does turn on over your feet."

"Would it be mean if I let him make love to my feet?"

"Here? Right in the store?"

"Of course not. Maybe I could have him bring some shoes by the house after the store closes. Would you mind?"

"Hell, I don't know. I guess not, if you want to. Do you think he'll go for it?"

"I'll find out. You go look around and let me talk to him. Go on. Here he comes."

Burt got up and strolled over to look at the men's shoes, leaving me alone with the young man. I took off both the footies and dropped them to the floor as the salesman perched on his stool and opened a box of shoes. He didn't say anything about my bare feet, just watched fascinated as I stretched my legs and rubbed the top of my left foot with the bottom of my right.

"Are your feet tired, ma'am?"

I wiggled my feet and toes at the same time, watching his excited eyes as the light reflected off my new coat of sexy pink toenail polish.

"A little tired," I said softly. "I'll have my husband rub them for me before he goes to work."

"He works at night?"

"Yes, he has to be at work by ten. I guess I'll have to hurry him home if I want a nice foot massage before he leaves."

"You like to have your feet rubbed?" he asked.

"Oh, I just love it! "

"You've got very pretty feet, ma'am. About the prettiest I've ever seen."

"Why, thank you, Mr.. .

"Dale ... Dale Stevens."

"Thank you, Dale. I'll bet you could give a really good foot massage, since you know so much about shoes and feet."

"I've done it some ... for my wife. But she doesn't appreciate it much."

"I'd appreciate it very much ... that is if you'd like to."

He gulped. "Rub your feet?"

"Uh-huh," I said, sticking my right foot between his legs and walking my toes right up his inclined stool till they bumped his groin.

"Oh, Lord," he breathed, shutting his eyes as he scooted back and pushed my foot away.

"What's the matter?" I asked innocently.

"Don't do that," he pleaded. "Not in here ... please!"

"Why don't you come to my house around ten?"

"I thought I was over this," he moaned, holding my foot tightly in his trembling hands. "How'd you know?"

"Intuition. Will you come if I give you the address?"

"I wouldn't be satisfied just rubbing your wonderful feet. Lord, they're simply beautiful! I'd want to kiss them. Maybe more than that."

"You can do whatever you'd like, Dale," I whispered. "So long as you don't hurt me and promise to stay below my knees."

He nodded quickly, licking his lips as he whipped out his sales book and pencil. I gave him the address. His hand shook as he wrote it down and tore off the sheet.

"At ten?" he asked, stuffing my address into his shirt pocket, and when I nodded smilingly he gulped and asked, "Do you want to buy any shoes tonight?"

"No. I'm too excited to buy shoes now."

"And I don't give a damn about selling them to you now," he said, laughing nervously. "At ten?"

"At ten. Don't be late," I said, slipping my feet back into the shoes I'd worn into the store and getting up.

"Would you mind if I bring a few pairs of very, very feminine shoes along? I bought them for my wife, but she won't wear them."

"I'll wear them for you, Dale."

"I don't know your name," he said.

"It's Willa.

Dale started to say something else, then bent and picked up his boxes of shoes, mumbling, "At ten, Willa. I'll see you at ten."