Swingers Part IV

What does Swinging mean to you? Did you remember the details? Aaron did...

Part IV: Another Swing

by Abyrne Mostyn

Aaron watched as couple fourteen parted company and turned for their respective sides of the hall, waiting until their doors were closed before turning back up the hall heading for the foyer to wait for couple fifteen to arrive. Mr. Fourteen was familiar but only perhaps in passing, Mrs. Fourteen, and her ring definitely identified her as MRS, was very familiar. When did she get married...Or was she always? That was the thing with swinging, sometimes you just didn’t know. Everyone came in consensually, but their back story didn’t always come in with them.

She had been an adventure. Dressed like a Christmas tree one December party a couple years back; he and Holden had taken turns removing the decorations and putting her away for the night. That dress had been a riot. Everyone had come dressed as their favorite winter holiday and she was obviously Christmas, complete with rope lights, colored balls and wisps of tinsel. They had played and made use of it all in the course of the evening, complete with having her hold the star high with both hands. He still couldn’t look at the big fir down in town square and not see her. Smiling now he nearly missed couple fifteen walk in, and had to stash the smirking to hand them their bags and give the spiel for tonight’s event.

Tonight was something new altogether. Props and play things were not new; usually however it was a single theme, so this was an experiment of sorts. To the west was Mardi gras, to the east was Carnival. Similar but different, it was going to be interesting to see if they evolved the same or if they took different turns. The rooms had been decked out with things fitting each festival, and had been a major effort. The current economy had been murder on many and the need to escape was a strobe light everywhere you looked. When he and his other half Sharilynne had enquired about helping with one of the upcoming parties, little did they know that they would get the whole deal.

They spent hours culling the net for images of Rio and New Orleans, getting poster prints of the ones they liked best and puttying them to the walls in the common rooms to flavor the spaces. They had downloaded music and had the Bose playing in each room to create atmosphere. They had even gone to the effort of having a caterer bring in dishes from those areas that would help complete the overall event. Sights, sounds, and smells…there was more to successful swinging than just ‘hooking up’ as the kids today would call it. It was being somewhere you might never be. It was fantasy realized, desire unchained, and personal hang-ups cast to the wind. For one night you could be the person you wanted to be, Don Juan and all that.

These parties had been successful for nearly a decade because it was something new and fun every time. Never the same thing twice. Never just another swing. This party was the IT party because everyone came in looking for the same thing. And, they got it. You wanted bondage? Someone else was sure to step up and play for a night, even if they wouldn’t anywhere else. You looking for some practice in submission, you’d find it. A taste or more of S&M? It was here too. All of it. Every fantasy come to life, couched in a new adventure. This night it would be the free-for-all festivals of North and South America. It was all there for the taking and all you had to do was walk in, take your clothes off, and leave your inhibitions at the door.

Swingers - Pt 3

Are you entranced by the magical spell woven in this tale yet? I sure am.  I can't wait for each installment, anxious for the next weekly post.  Wow, do they know how to have fun or what?

We've heard Colb's side of things, this week we get to hear from Tangyr.

Swingers Pt 3

by

Abyrne Mostyn

Tangyr fought hard to keep the smirk from becoming a giggle. She knew she had Colb’s attention, not because she could see the evidence of his need jutting through the loose trews he favored, but because of his breathing...or lack thereof. The odd hitch betraying him even before she heard the exhale as she turned to close her door. No matter what the scenario, she could always tell when she heard that catch; it was almost as if he could do nothing but a long, slow, shallow inhaling and that was not enough to fuel him so he never let it out again. After a spell there would be a mad ‘whoosh’, a hard heavy sighing sound as he had to let go some air for there to be room for more.

Making sure to give a sashay of her hips as she began to reach for the handle, she knew that he was well on his way to their morning rendezvous when his breathing caught. The moment protracted, ending when the film of her linen shift stirred with the hard exhale he had no choice but to let out from across the hall. Breathe or pass out; as of yet breathing had always won. They had lingered long enough and she softly closed the door fighting to stifle the fit of laughter vying for the surface. His erratic breathing in these moments always giving him away.

Almost from the night they had met she had started to piece together what would drive him and what he could do without, all by listening to him breathe.  From the first they had possessed an electric connection.  The kind of meeting where you shake hands and do the nicey-nice but somewhere between the clasping of hands and the letting go part you missed the words because you learned everything you needed to know about them by touching. His breath had caught in that moment and her whole body had nearly shuddered.  It was what she imagined finding the other half of yourself was like.

That party was the first that they had been together, the pull to be so close to one another that it was nearly impossible to tell where one began and the other ended was irresistible. Choosing a partner for the night a forgone conclusion, and saying goodbye in the morning a sorrow not familiar to swingers. Maybe it was the moonlight. Maybe it was the drumming. Whatever it was, it was intense. Although they had re-enacted that night many times; in the loft, in a long forgotten wood-ringed meadow, in every conceivable place they had been; it was never the same as that first night; sometimes it was better.

It had been a September bonfire party. Fall had come early that year and the evening was crisp with smells from the on-gong harvests. The group had gathered at a member’s barn a few miles outside of town. The fire already ablaze when she first saw it, and roaring its call by the time they had all arrived and were gathered round it. Men had been given implements for drumming; women, Murphy bells, they danced and drummed well into the night under a full moon.

Colb had held a gourd looking thing with taught skin of some kind across the opening for the drum head, and it released a higher pitch than those around him when he struck it. She knew every time as she went past the moment when he noticed her as his drumbeat was suddenly out of rhythm. Rhythm required breathing. It was hard not to giggle at the realization. Even now sitting here getting ready for another party, she could not stifle the giggles and let out a loud bit of laughter, slamming her hand across her mouth too late to stop it echoing.

That night had seemed to end in the space of that drumbeat. They had retired to a secluded area, and just a moment later it has seemed to be daybreak and time to go. Swinging had never been somber, but that morning had defined it. The temerity of the night underscored by his parting demand, “Tell me your name.”

The months to the following March gathering seemed endless. It should have been December but they were not in the same area for that party. The antithesis of the time it took the first night to end, she’d aged an eternity waiting to see him again. Seemingly he had too by the ‘starving man offered bread’ look on his face when she walked into the party . The room seemed to heave a collective sigh as they released their baited breath in unison, turning back to their respective conversations. A beeline would have taken too long to reach him and yet she tried to make her path to him seem random. She failed. He failed. They met in the middle of the room and found that with so much hanging between them they had no idea what to say, instead clasping hands and letting what was between them do the talking.

They knew in that moment that there was no way they could continue coming on someone else’s arm, hoping to be in the same group to see one another and immediately sought the host. Before the night was ended, hearts were broken while theirs connected. None would lose their invitation to come, but all would be banned if there were any lingering animosities come June. They left the gathering and their partners before dawn broke, the first and last time they were together in and out of the party.

Sitting back on the settee this night, her giggles and smirking resolving to a well fulfilled smile, she knew that had been one of the best decisions of their lives. Was it destined to be? Or was it circumstance? The September moon? The music and dancing? The protracted, anguishing wait for March hoping then to see one another again? Whatever it was it was something. It was everything; and yet it was so much more.

Swingers - Pt 2

 

Get a free preview here of Abyrne's  story!  Scroll to the bottom to catch the first part if you missed that. Now, let's join Tangyr and Colb at the party.
 

Swingers Pt 2

by

Abyrne Mostyn

With the soft ‘snick’ of the door, he glanced about the room finding nothing of note. It was a simple room made for nothing in particular, save preparation. This was new. Usually, they would gather in a room with those from the group that evening and mingle away until something or someone triggered their interest and they moved to a room apart from the crowd. Tonight with its props was bound to be interesting. At parties past they had been paired up randomly instead of left to mingle and select by their own choices. From what he had seen in his bag, this night might be as well. How intriguing. How exciting. Would they know, or would the adventure be finding ‘the one’?

Every party was different, and yet the same. The evening’s festivities concluded there was always a take away, and that was what made it worth returning time and time again. You never knew what the take away would be. Colb and Tangyr had made the take away their secret prize. Each morning as they left, neither would tell what they had been given as their ‘keepsake’, instead rushing home to show the other what, and how.

Pondering this, sitting on a small sofa thinking back over the past, catching the lilting laughter from across the hall as Tangyr found something amusing, the previous March popped to mind. The theme that night had been tropical and everyone had come dressed for a luau. The party had proceeded as it usually did, each couple finding a space, and their gifts in one of the rooms above. Colb had brought home coconut body oil and massage implements, while his partner that night, a svelte blonde had gotten a grass skirt with a pearl thong. Tangyr had gotten a fun prize, a collection of edible fruit body paints, all the flavors of the islands. They had put them to good use upon reaching their upper west side loft that morning.

Between the coconut oil and the various fruit smells you would never have guessed that a cold March wind was blowing through Boston. Tangyr sprawled out on the throw looking every bit fresh from the islands.  They had escaped to the beach for a Sunday morning, listening to a steel drums cd they had from their honeymoon to the Caribbean years before. Her dark hair fanned out above her, long tan legs and curvy shape wearing nothing but fruit body paint and a smile. She was radiant. Her generous curves flush with excitement; he could not help but be aroused. She was perfect.

Perfection of course being speculative. To him she was everything and then some. More than a mouthful, but just right for his hands. Her stomach not ‘Hollywood rail’ but more reminiscent of Hollywood Rat Pack days. Curves and cushion. Soft and feminine. The kind of female that a man could lose himself in and not worry about breaking. Sturdy. Strong. A woman made for a man like him. She was not flab, but she shook a little with the tickle of the watercolor brush when he applied the paints. Sexy as hell.

She was erotic defined. Not afraid or so intimidated by herself to let herself be seen. To be touched. To be tasted. God how he had done all of that and more. Her silhouette in the other doorway tonight nearly had him grabbing her and whisking them back home. Her ass, high and heart shaped made him drool. She would jab at herself as having ‘too much in the tank’, though he believed it was just so she could hear him say how much he loved it, and show her. Watching that door close across the hall had been painful. Even now, the evidence of his want for her making him have to shift on his journey down memory lane back to their Sunday in Hawaii.

Watching her was easily his favorite past time, but watching her paint herself where she wanted him to go was like winning Super bowl tickets sitting on the sidelines with the players. He nearly blew twice when she drew the tiniest trail...so close, but not quite where he was dying to be. Painstakingly slow she drew his path, giving him explicit directions on where to begin and where the “X” was on this treasure map of hers. Changing flavors here and there, explaining the need for variety and complementing tastes and such, he was nearly rabid by the time she had stopped giggling, was done and ready.

The most difficult was to return the torture. Nibbling here, sucking there, and flatting his lips together to suck tight to the trail but not overshoot and miss the rest of his journey. Her moans, and squeals changing over to wails and weeping as he gave back exactly along the path, teasing her higher.

Stopping just short of the end, looking up with a wicked grin, grabbing the mango orange paint, spreading her wide and pouring half the jar along the rift of her. Her speechless moment of confusion becoming a raspy wail when he announced, “I have decided to finish the treasure hunt later...I rather feel like snorkeling.”

Swingers

For those that were following Swingers before it is now availabe from Amazon in it's entirety.  For those that haven't followed now's your chance for a sneak preview!

Swingers

by

Abyrne Mostyn

Colb knew it was a swinger’s party before he walked in the door. They had been here before. Second Saturday of every third month; same bat time, same bat channel...you could set your watch by it. This party was the highlight of the scene. Invitations were worth attendee’s weight in gold. VIP only. No one gave up their spot to this one; it was too hard to get invited again once you left the circle; so you didn’t. Tangyr on his arm to and from the door, but not in between. Per party rules, once inside, they would part company and not rejoin until daybreak.

Normally, first upon arriving and inside they would take turns drawing an adventure card for the night, stopping only to show the hostess that they were not going together before a quick peck on the cheek and a ‘See you in the morning.’ This time, things were different. The usual hostess of this party was not here tonight. In her stead was a formal looking man, one not unfamiliar, but also not one Colb knew well. His twin air kisses to Tangyr and wink demonstrating he knew her, but that was the extent of the greeting.

The lull in the post-holiday and Valentines social calendar made March a party usually raucous and lively. The time to get back to self and let go the rush and fuss over others weighing heavily on all. Too cold to be outdoors until possibly the June event, everyone was dressed well, if not slightly under the weather conditions once their wraps and coats were stowed.

Also new this time was that after formal greetings and putting up coats and such, the host handed them each a pillow case looking bag with a long zipper that locked at one corner similar to how a bank bag would. The key, conveniently in the lock and on a small band of elastic, they had thought of everything. His question of “Do you know how to work this?” out and acknowledged with little thought, as both of them unzipped and peered inside.

Looking up at Tangyr, their expressions nearly identical as they both seemed the cat that had swallowed the canary. The host clearing his throat drawing his attention back to him for directions, they wiped the smirks off their faces and paid attention.

“You are the fourteenth couple to arrive, even number males to the west room and females to the east room. No mingling across the center hallway please or your invitation will be revoked for future events. After you leave the hallway you will find the changing area. Your accoutrements for the evening are inside your case as you have seen. You may store your clothing in the bags and lock them. They will remain in the changing area until the end of the night. Keep your key with you. No personal identification of any kind beyond the first area. There are six more couples to arrive, but you may begin once changed and inside the main room. Upstairs also, no mingling across the center hall please. Each group has a designated stairwell and wing. Enjoy your evening.” With that he handed each of them a Mardi-gras style mask, one that hid all of their face but the mouth and escorted them to where they would part company. Colb then went to the west, Tangyr to the east. The last glimpse of one another their silhouette as the doors closed to the main hall.

Swingers Part VII

How do you define Swinging? Can you swing solo? 

 

 

Part VII: All That Glitters

by

Abyrne Mostyn

 

 

Tangyr glanced about the modest room, slipped off her shoes and sat down on a small settee. The gold lame mask in her hand making her smile. It was not your everyday mask, what could it mean? The whorls and scroll work extending up from the area about the temples on the mask making it seem baroque or more than just an identity concealment. Fun.

She unzipped the bag she had been handed and now brought out the items with careful hands, inspecting each of the meager pieces. Upon first glance into the bag she had seen small shimmers of gold and had thought they were pasties. They weren’t. They were similar but something much more than a simple stick on. She wondered absently for a few moments if all the females would be adorned the same.

The first item she withdrew was elaborate gold lame and sequins, something of a paisley shape, but nothing as stodgy as a simple paisley. Reaching in she withdrew an identical, if opposite facing piece. Each one with a small O-ring clasp on the back that didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how they were affixed, or where. Next came out a scoop-looking piece, though it was more a quarter curve that seemed to be more flexible with a tail of feathers opposite the wide top. It too was gold, glitter and sequin. Someone had planned for the dismal March to be broken by quite a party. The clasp on this piece was significant and would be no small matter to attach. Already she trembled with excitement to try them on.

Deciding that the odd piece of the grouping might be easier if she didn’t have to fight with the matching ones, she slipped off her filmy slacks, thigh-highs and her favorite thong folding them carefully before setting them aside. Tangyr studied the piece for a few moments before she figured out it was a clit-clamp. Tricky thing about these types of clamps, you had to be erect to attach it. Excitement had gotten her part of the way, but she was nowhere near enough to the stubborn knot of nerves she would need to attach the piece and get it to stay.

Her own emerald green eyes stared back from the mirror on the wall. Sliding the mask into place she stared, becoming the voyeur and the victim of her own wandering hands. Long slender fingers trailed from knees to hips, around and between the globes of her arse and back to the front again before toying with the top line of the scream of dark curls. Twisting and furrowing, outlining and venturing to the midline and back she watched as she teased herself. Waiting for a short eternity before sliding one finger between the folds to check her progress, damp. Bringing that finger and another with it to her lips she wet them both before returning to the little button she hid at the cleft of her and began a slow pressure-ful turn.

Turning, pressing and turning some more she could feel the bud begin to wrap itself tighter. Feel the clench and unclench all the way through to her stomach. Feel the nipples that she hadn’t exposed tighten to small pebbles and become ultra-sensitive to the slide of her satin camisole. Dipping those same fingers back an inch and sliding up and down within her core, she was more than damp now, but now, she wanted it all. Watching avidly as the fingers came out again shiny and iridescent she changed directions of the turning against her clit, rubbing with a finger along each side of it and a pressure building between. She watched as her lips parted so she could pant, and her free hand scratched streaks up her thigh as she pushed herself higher. Watched as her own hand turned faster and faster, her hips begin to pulse in a rhythm they knew by heart, and her teeth come to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle the cry as she wet the inside of her thighs with the proof that she was ready.

Grabbing a few tissues from the table to wipe up some, she pinched the cross-clamp open and pulling back the labia that were still shiny with her release; she slid the opening over the angry pink bud and released it to grab hold. The immediate tension and pressure nearly had her releasing again. The piece designed to keep her on the edge, a pleasure and a torture all at the same time. The tail that seemed to plume and cover the essentials of her arse seeming very showgirl in her mind, but also something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Wasting no time as her nipples were still standing up for attention, she slipped from her blouse and camisole, rolling the tight tips against her open palms before squeezing the O-rings open and attaching the pieces with the paisley points up and out. The pinching not comfortable, but not uncomfortable either, instead something like a constant biting feeling and again her core wept. This night would be a wet one.

Sliding on the nude slippers, she took off all her jewelry, put her accoutrements in the bag, zipped it closed, locked it, and slid the key band onto her wrist. Setting the bag aside to a shelf with the others, she took one last look in the mirror before opening the door and entering a festival in full swing. Smiling as she recognized Carnival, she hummed as she walked. Making her way to the far table for a drink and to see what was on the menu she stopped abruptly when someone gave a soft tug on the feathers of her tail. The sensation shot an electric current through her clit, up thru her stomach, and nearly had her moaning. Having taken her release before she entered just moments ago, everything was still hyper-sensitive. Turning, she found a tall leggy blonde with honey eyes watching her intently from behind her cerulean mask. The woman pointing to the scratch marks up her own thigh before motioning to Tangyr’s.

“You too?” was all she said. Tangyr’s soft shrug and giggle the only response she could muster as she nodded. The blonde circled her like a lion measuring a quarry, standing behind her, inhaling deeply as she tugged the feathers again just enough to make Tangyr’s knees go weak before she leaned in to whisper in her ear;

“Work the room, have a drink but know this much...I will have you in my bed this night. If you taste as good as you smell right now, I’m not of a mind to share, but your choice. Two of us? Or three?”

Tangyr took all of three seconds to turn the tables on her, circling her as she stood still this time; before stopping behind her, pulling rhythmically and repeatedly on the feathers that controlled the clit, inhaling slowly watching the goose bumps rise on the blondes arms and back before whispering back;

“If you think you can handle me alone, I dare you to try.”


Read Part VI here
Read Part V here
Read Part IV here
Read Part III here
Read Part II here
Read Part I here


Swingers Part VI



Ever wonder what the "other " people think of the main players? This week Carolyn shares her thoughts on Colb, on Tangyr, and on the life.  

 

 

 

All that Swing Are Not Equal.

Part VI:

Carolyn watched the room. Every party was the same; hoping that Colb would not see her in the corner, that it was a split party and he was in the other room, or that she would be retired from the main chamber before he arrived. That March had been the best and worst of the parties to date. She had known going into it that Colb was anxious. Why he was fidgeting she wasn’t sure, but he seemed to approach that party and the one before differently.

They had been together off and on for a couple of years, never more than a semi-serious thing, but always together the third month of the quarter for ‘The Next Big Swing’. Their relationship more strained than before, especially after the December party which had seemed to send him into a funk, she had wished for something, anything to happen. Anything did indeed happen, but not at all what she had expected. Perhaps next time she would be more specific when she made her wish. When the hostess knocked softly on the door of the room she occupied with Aaron that night, she was stunned stupid for more than a moment to figure out what was happening. Being led away, told she could return shortly if she chose, and ending up in a room with Colb, Tangyr, Brent, and the hostess seemed to happen in slow motion anytime she remembered it. Colb leading her to a corner across the room from where Brent and Tangyr were talking in hushed tones; it took a long time to register what was being said.

He was letting her go. For good this time. He had to pursue this thing with Tangyr. He was kidding himself and taking advantage of her to continue to try. He didn’t mean to hurt her, yadda...yadda...yadda. How cruel was it that all she could think in that moment was, ‘Oh thank god.’? It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy his company, and she’d be a liar six ways from Sunday if she tried to pretend she didn’t enjoy his body and the ways he could move it; it was more a matter of feeling like a square peg in a round hole anymore outside the bedroom and that was not how she wanted to live. Colb was a good man, a great lover, and ‘a huge catch’ to hear her girlfriends tell it, but he was not fully present lately. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, and she would not be second choice. This was for the best. Unexpected, but still a good thing.

The hostess had handled it all. Arrangements were made to get her safely home in the morning if she chose to finish her night or leave now; however she wanted to play it. She was welcome to return, though any lingering animosity, if there were any, would have to remain outside the party. She and Brent, she would later learn, were welcome to escort one another to and from the door if they were not able to find another who wished to attend with them by June, though in the scene there were plenty who may pursue them to come on their arm as they themselves had not gotten an invitation, please keep the hostess informed on what to expect. Simple, tidy, strange in a world of different than everything and everyone else, complete.

As she stood in the corner of the Carnival party watching the room, she let out a silent relieved sigh when Tangyr walked in, Colb would be in the other room. She knew they had married several long years back, and she truly did wish them well. Nights like this she longed for parties coming with someone you sort of cared for, knowing they would be there to take you home when it was over instead of the uncertainty of bringing someone that you knew, but didn’t necessarily want to be with other than sharing a cab.

Such was the way of things as a swinger. Sometimes you hit the winning numbers all in a row and got someone who loved you, that you loved back who wanted to share and experience the swingers life on a measured scale but who at the end of the day was still one hundred percent yours. That was what Colb and Tangyr had found, as well as a few other couples who came every third month to join the fun. Then there were the ones who would never settle down, didn’t want to, and came to the parties for the frivolity and new experiences. Lastly there were those like Carolyn, hoping for the first group, somehow always finding those from the second. Maybe tonight would be the night.

Her mother had always listened to the country station and sang loudly to the radio when one song came on, the name of which she didn’t know, but the line that her mother crooned off key had come to be her mantra; ‘You’ve got to stand for something or you’ll fall for anything’. That was how she lived, and how she swung. It was why Colb’s rambling departure that March had been and answer to wishes on stars, and it was why so many years later she came with someone she knew, shared a cab home and kept searching. She stood for herself.

 

 

Read Part VII here
Read Part V here
Read Part IV here
Read Part III here
Read Part II here
Read Part I here

Swingers: The Red Queen

 Who's the king of the swingers? Judge for yourself. We know the Grande Dame...She is The Red Queen.

 

The Red Queen

 

 

by Abyrne Mostyn

 

 

They called her the Red Queen...the Grand Mistress. Friends called her Margaret, but most who got close to her called her Master. A dominatrix, she was the master of all that happened around her at all times. Her chambers were a playground for the things that weren’t talked about in proper circles, but perhaps in hushed whispers. Men and women alike who wanted the exquisite, disparate ecstasy-torture of riding the edge to submission came to her in droves hoping she would dominate them. She took them to that place that you couldn’t define. A place that one could only recreate in the sweet dream fantasy land that existed between asleep and awake. Spent and craving another time with a consummate Dom, she was that kind of master. Consuming, total surrender or nothing at all.

She was accomplished at all the forms of domination. A BDSM master, she was in demand by those who lived the lifestyle, though few knew who she was behind her guise. An hourglass in red leather, she never revealed her identity and that seemed to heighten the fantasy. A flame red wig to hide the blonde showed underneath the matching red leather full head mask that hid all but ruby lips and emerald green contact disguised eyes. She could play tic-tac-toe on her subs arse from twenty paces with a flick of the wrist and her long tail whip, making them sing for her to win her game. A showgirl gone deep into the life, she traded in her pink feather boa, diamond tiara, and vaudeville act for the business end of a cat-o-nine tails and needle point stilettos. Blood red nail polish on fingers and toes to complete the ensemble, no one who saw her had a doubt about her ability to play a person to the edge and take them over or keep them from their release as she chose.

To her friends, she was just another person in their circle of friends. To those swingers who entered her party house every three months, she was the sweet hostess, the emcee of the evening. None seemed to recognize her, or if they did, they were wise enough to keep her identity to themselves. She would bet on the former, as she had gone to great lengths to keep her anonymity as the Red Queen to herself, and few who were her subs were invited here. What none in or out of her circles knew was that she, like so many strong Dominants required the powerful practiced hand of another to gain her release. True submission to a proficient, talented master, the skillful application of a riding crop, or to dance at the end of someone else’s whip. The dichotomy of hot wax and ice cubes, the pleasurable pain that would take her higher than many of this world knew they could rise. To float above herself in sweet ecstasy and weep her surrender or release when it was earned, but not a minute before.

When Aaron and Sharilynne had inquired about taking a party, they had no way of knowing the gift they were giving her. Sure, others had hosted at different times through the years, but seldom had any taken the whole night over, or done so with such complete and thorough attention that she was deemed redundant and unnecessary. Tonight, she would get to join the fun and taste the favors. Find and follow through with another of the guests and hope that what she believed was true, instead of being left to vicariously enjoy through the one way glass. Years ago, a safety measure that was insisted upon and agreed to in the early days of the swingers parties to see than none were victimized.

It is one thing to say you want the open rules of anything goes; and another thing entirely to experience it as she had learned long ago. She knew first hand that safe words could be ignored. To reinforce the party rules, one way glass mirrors were installed in each of the rooms with surveillance so that although those inside could have their privacy, or at least the semblance of such, there was someone who could watch at any time and step in. She would often stop by and review the monitors, and would accompany anytime there was a need to escort someone out. In the last decade it had happened maybe twice, but twice was enough to continue the practice. Everyone who came to the party knew that they could be watched and removed; it had been enough for most.

From her post as hostess and later in the evenings as watcher, she knew without a doubt who she wanted to entertain this night as she slipped on her accoutrements for the evening. Aaron and Sharilynne having decked the party goers out with little more than just enough, she hoped that things would go in her favor. She knew what she wanted, and she knew who she wanted to deliver it. Colb Mitras was definitely her first choice. Perhaps six foot tall he had the build of someone who paid attention without the vulgar notion of needing to be bulked out and ridiculous. He was solid without being too much. Sandy brown, disheveled hair and dark coffee eyes, he was tasty to look at. Watching him over the past few years, she knew he could deliver what she craved. He was one to try it all and then go for a little more. She wanted his sense of adventure and freedom, but as his submissive she wanted him to take it. Control it. Make it elusive and force her to reach for it.

Holden Henner with his brooding looks and wicked smile would do, but she hoped for Colb. Knowing the details of the differently themed rooms, she knew she was going into Mardi gras. If both of the men she wanted were odd numbers and sent to Carnival she would settle for finding a soft female to waste the night with, but she was hopeful to get one or the other, or perhaps both to the west room and the North American festival. Time would tell her fortune. Slipping on a feathered G-string, so reminiscent of where she had come from, strings of beads that weren’t enough to cover a woman with far less cleavage, and her mask she slipped the elastic band with the key around her wrist and entered Bourbon Street. Humming to the jazz trumpet wailing, looking for Mr. Mitras she made her way to the table and grabbed a hurricane. Sipping her drink thinking to herself wryly, one to drink now, and maybe another one to rage later and take away her choices. ‘Come on New Orleans, give me a storm.’



Part IV: Another Swing

Part III: Tangyr

Part II: Swingers

Part I:  Swingers