20 erotic swinging and swapping stories Read online

  Partner Swap

  A collection of twenty erotic stories

  Edited by Miranda Forbes

  Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2011

  ISBN 9781907761751

  Copyright © Accent Press Ltd 2011

  The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  Cover design by Madamari

  Winner of Jade Erotic Awards:

  Erotic Fiction Publisher 2010

  "Xcite has delighted its readers with a wealth of superb titles and first class storytelling. Their titles have far outstripped the others for both quality of the product and sensual erotic content."

  Contents

  One Item Or Fewer Elizabeth Coldwell

  Belle De Nuit Viva Jones

  Date Night Mary Borsellino

  My Old Dress Gary Philpott

  Party Favour Fierce Dolan

  Tied Up In Knots Antonia Adams

  Rockin' It Old School Lynn Lake

  Good Neighbours Angel Propps

  That Girl! Landon Dixon

  Alive Clarice Clique

  The Couple with the Dragon Tattoo Giselle Renarde

  Intrigued Sommer Marsden

  Quay Party Courtney James

  Like a Moth to a Flame Elizabeth Black

  Kicks Landon Dixon

  Forgotten Desires Tony Haynes

  One Way Swap Alex Jordaine

  Deeds of Mercy Giselle Renarde

  Pattie And Annette Penelope Friday

  Coming Home Dee Jaye

  One Item Or Fewer

  by Elizabeth Coldwell

  The dress hangs in front of the wardrobe, whisper thin. You watched me hold it up to my body earlier, imagining how it would look when I put it on. ‘You’ll be able to see everything,’ you said, but the lustful tone in your voice made it clear that’s not a bad thing. After all, the point of tonight is to be daring in a way I never have before.

  I’ve been looking forward to Rob’s party ever since we received the invitation. It’s become an annual institution, every Midsummer’s Night without fail. Rob is one of those unfortunate people whose birthday falls in the week between Christmas and New Year, so tends to get lost in the wider celebrations. When he was a kid, his parents used to compensate by throwing him a special summer party. It’s a tradition he revived as soon as he moved into the house he owns now, with its big, high-ceilinged rooms and sprawling garden.

  And this won’t be any old party. There’s always a theme, a dress code to be followed. There have been some memorable ones over the years: Vampires And Virgins, Roaring Twenties, At The Bottom Of The Sea. Everyone competes to see who can wear the best costume, but it’s always been noticeable how many of the women take it as an excuse to wear an outfit that’s as revealing as they can possibly get away with. I swear if the theme was Night Of The Living Dead, Rob’s house would be crawling with slutty zombies. So this year, now his divorce is final and he’s off the leash at last, he’s taken their exhibitionistic tendencies to their natural conclusion, by making this a “one garment only” party.

  I emerge from the bathroom freshly showered, wrapped in a fluffy bath sheet that conceals far more of me than the dress will tonight. As I smooth body butter into my legs and blow-dry my hair to a tousled bedhead, I keep casting glimpses at the indecent little outfit, wondering if I’ll really have the courage to wear it. If I don’t, it’ll be a waste of an afternoon spent carefully removing the outer lace sheath from the taupe satin interior. With that lining, the dress was pretty but safe. Without it ...

  ‘Taxi’ll be here in ten minutes, Honor,’ you remind me. It’s OK for you. You’ve been dressed and ready for ages; your one garment a favourite pair of baggy blue beach shorts. They show off your nicely muscular thighs and a belly that’s as flat as it was the day we met, ten years ago, but they hardly drag you out of your comfort zone. Still, tonight’s about me, not you. We both know that. If everything goes to plan, tonight will be the night you finally share me with another man.

  I usher you out of the room so I can finish getting ready in peace. Taking a deep breath, I drop the towel and step into my dress. It zips up with a soft rasp, and I risk a glance at my reflection. As we’d hoped, the loose floral pattern of the lace hides nothing. My nipples are visible, already beginning to pucker with the excitement of seeing myself so scantily clad. So is the fluff of pubic hair I’ve trimmed down to a triangle so small it may as well not be there at all. If you were here, now, instead of waiting patiently downstairs, I know you’d be tempted to just forget about the party and fuck me where I stand. Not that I’d object, but I need other people to see me like this. I need Rob to see me.

  A horn hoots in the street outside. The taxi is early, and I slip on my coat before grabbing my bag. No sneaky preview for you before we get to the party.

  If the driver wonders why my coat is buttoned to the neck on such an unseasonably sultry June night, he doesn’t say anything. You’ve thrown on a hooded sweat top, still Mr Casual as we slide into the back seat together. Your hand is itching to slide up beneath the coat, to take advantage of my knickerless state, but I thwart you by linking my fingers with yours.

  ‘Not yet, darling,’ I whisper tenderly in your ear as the taxi pulls away from the kerb. ‘It’ll be worth the wait, trust me.’

  There’s hardly any traffic parked on the quiet lane where Rob lives. I can’t work out if that means we’re among the first to arrive or if, like us, the other guests are choosing to take taxis so they can enjoy a couple of glasses of Rob’s deliciously potent punch without the fear of being over the limit.

  Rob greets us at the door, beaming broadly. He’s dressed more conservatively than I’d expected, in a pair of shorts that are no shorter and no tighter than yours, but he looks good. Positively edible, in fact. The sun has bleached white-blond spikes in his fair hair, and his lean, compact body is lightly tanned. His garden is so secluded, so perfect for sunbathing naked, I can’t help wondering whether there is white flesh beneath those shorts or if every last inch of him is that same enticing shade of honey.

  ‘Owen, Honor, great to see you.’ He accepts the bottle of Australian Shiraz you hand him with a nod of appreciation. ‘You can leave your coats and shoes in the closet by the downstairs loo, then come through to the garden. I’m serving drinks out there.’

  When I shrug the coat off my shoulders, your mouth gapes open like a landed fish. Your eyes seem to burn into my hardly concealed tits. Those shorts of yours give little away, but I’m sure you’re stiffening inside them.

  Grabbing me in a hug that tells me everything I need to know about the state of your cock, you murmur, ‘You look fucking amazing.’

  ‘Do you think Rob’s going to like it?’ I ask.

  ‘Honor, he looks at you like he wants to jump your bones when you’re in a sweater and jeans. Dressed like that ...’ You don’t need to say any more. The feel of your hard-on is giving me all the reassurance I need.

  Walking out into the garden, we’re greeted with the sight of a dozen or so of Rob’s friends and colleagues, as close to naked as we have ever seen them. A couple of the guys have had fun with the dress code. One of Rob’s football-playing mates has come in a wet
suit. Another is in a pale pink all-in-one that, coupled with his shaven head, has the effect of making him look like an oversized baby.

  Everyone else seems to be taking it more seriously, though I’m not quite sure what category the man in the Borat-style lime green mankini falls into. The strips of Lycra that comprise his costume reveal a surprisingly hairy body, with thick black tufts sprouting on his chest, back and shoulders. There’s even a darkish, peachy fuzz on his admittedly spectacular arse. I have to admire his confidence in carrying off such an unbelievably skimpy costume, but my fantasies have never leaned towards men who come complete with their own fur coat.

  Several of the women are in lingerie, mostly pretty teddies and full-length slips, though one girl from Rob’s old office, who’s always loved showing off her body whatever the theme might be, wears only a pair of ruffled pink stripper knickers. The ties on the side beg to be undone, and I’m sure that once the booze really starts to flow, she’ll end up as naked as she’s no doubt hoping.

  Another couple, who always make a point of coordinating what they wear, are in plain black T-shirts, which finish only an inch or so below crotch level. What, in other circumstances, would be one of the most boring things you can wear is completely subverted by the fact they’re both bare beneath those T-shirts. One careless movement and her pussy, his cock, will be exposed to anyone who might be looking. And I’m looking, particularly as his T-shirt appears to be tented slightly at the front by the beginnings of a healthy erection.

  While I’m being distracted by all the flesh so blatantly on display, you’re striding towards the table where Rob has set out the drinks. A woman I recognise as Rob’s former boss, a no-nonsense Yorkshire lass made good, raises her drink in greeting as I follow behind you. Her outfit of choice is a stunning silver mink coat – fake, I assume, though I don’t doubt she could afford the real thing if she chose.

  She catches me eyeing her. ‘Well, people are always saying I’m all fur coat and no knickers, so I thought I’d prove it.’

  ‘Bet you wish you’d worn something a little cooler,’ you say.

  Her laugh is forged from pure nicotine. ‘Don’t worry, love. If I get too hot, this is coming right off.’

  That’s when I realise this party is a couple of glasses of punch away from becoming a full-blown orgy. The girl in the stripper knickers has a pierced nipple, I can’t help but notice, the silver barbell that adorns it glittering in the evening sun. Normally, I wouldn’t consider another woman in a sexual way, but my mind drifts to what it might be like to take that nipple in my mouth, feeling the barbell cold against my tongue...

  ‘Penny for them,’ a voice says, as a glass of something red and fruity, topped with a paper umbrella, is pressed into my hand. I take a sip, tasting rum and plenty of it.

  ‘Oh, I was just taking in the view,’ I reply, turning to face Rob. ‘You’ve outdone yourself with this punch, by the way.’

  ‘Oh, it’s just a little something of my own invention. I call it Wild And Willing.’

  ‘Which pretty much sums up everyone here.’ I’m aware of you, watching me from two feet away, silently giving me your permission to be as flirty with Rob as I want.

  ‘Yeah, they’ve really embraced the theme of the party. As, I’m pleased to see, have you.’ His tone grows lower, more conspiratorial. ‘Your tits look fantastic in that dress.’

  The words have my cunt twitching with lust, and if I pushed my fingers between my legs I know they’d come away wet. I’ve wanted Rob for so long, and tonight you’re going to let me have him. I feel light headed and giddy, and it has nothing to do with the punch.

  Behind us, there’s a sudden squeal, answered by a burst of laughter. It alerts us to the fact the girl with the pierced nipple is no longer wearing her elaborate knickers. A bloke in tiny yellow Speedos that leave nothing to the imagination is waving them above his head, while the Borat-alike and a couple of his friends cheer him on. She’s making a half-hearted attempt to grab them back, but it’s obvious she’s loving the fact everyone can now see her cleanly shaved pussy.

  ‘Good job you’ve got no neighbours,’ you comment to Rob. ‘Can I top up your punch, Honor?’

  I look at my glass, realise I’ve almost drained it without noticing. You take it from me, giving me the excuse to be alone with Rob just a moment longer. It feels like we’re standing in the still eye of a hurricane, while the madness rages around us. Even so, I want to be somewhere else. Somewhere private, where I can act on the ever-deepening need I have to see Rob stripped of those baggy shorts.

  You must be reading my mind, because when you return with our drinks, you utter the words that are guaranteed to raise the stakes. ‘Rob, you know I wouldn’t mind if you fucked Honor.’

  Rob’s face is a picture as he tries to work out if he’s heard you correctly.

  You pull me to you with your free hand, stroking my nipple with your thumb almost absent-mindedly. ‘She’s all yours if you want her. All I ask is that I’m there to join in.’

  ‘Are you OK with this?’ Rob asks me, as though alarmed by my silence on the matter.

  Truth is, I haven’t been able to say anything, because I’m so churned up with giddy anticipation. Inside, though, I’m screaming at you to say yes. Somehow I manage to find my voice.

  ‘I want this. We want this. What do you say, Rob?’

  ‘Well, I shouldn’t really leave my guests unattended ...’ As we glance round, we see that Mr Speedos is now kissing the girl he stripped of her knickers, his hands kneading the cheeks of her arse as she grinds herself on to his swimwear-clad bulge.

  ‘I think they can manage without us,’ you comment, in a tone as dry as the Sahara.

  ‘Let’s go inside,’ Rob says. As we walk up the path towards the house, you holding one of my hands, Rob holding the other, no one pays us the slightest attention. Perhaps our disappearance will be their cue to unleash the pent-up lust that hovers just beneath the surface of this gathering, pair off and fuck on the lawn.

  I’ve been in Rob’s house so many times, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen the inside of his bedroom. It’s a single man’s room, all right; the bed’s king-sized but the duvet is rumpled, the pillows scattered everywhere. There’s a portable TV with a built-in DVD player on top of the chest of drawers, angled so he’ll be able to watch it in bed. Prominently on the top of the pile of DVDs beside it is a box featuring a busty model dressed as a schoolgirl and licking a lollipop, her nipples hard and prominent through the shirt knotted beneath her midriff. A vision flashes into my mind: Rob, propped up against the pillows, slowly stroking his cock as, on screen, the girl in the porno has her tight white knickers pulled down and her arse soundly spanked.

  Rob spots what I’m looking at, and flashes me an unrepentant grin. The vision changes, and now it’s my arse he’s spanking. The thought gets me hot and bothered all over again, but I’m still not sure how we’re going to kick this little threesome off.

  That’s when you take control. ‘Go on, Rob. Strip her.’

  Given that I’m almost naked as it is, all Rob has to do is tug down the zip. The grating as the teeth are pulled apart seems crazily loud and I realise we’re all holding our breath, aware of the growing tension in the room. I step out of the skimpy lace sheath. Rob pulls me into his arms and we kiss. His mouth tastes of rum punch and his lips are surprisingly soft.

  We collapse on to the bed, mouths still mashed together. At your urging, I free his cock from his shorts, and stroke the fat, veined length of it. Somehow your hand works its way between my legs, finding my slick pussy. You’re determined not to be a passive spectator. Instead, you’re directing us to move into a position that gives you easier access to my clit. Happy to oblige, I kneel up, giving you a perfect view of my sex lips as they pout at you. Your finger traces teasingly along them, and I almost lose my grip on Rob’s cock

  ‘Nice and juicy,’ you murmur. ‘Perfect for fucking.’

  I know you want to watch Rob screw me first, an
d by now I’m more than ready to have that gorgeous tool inside me.

  You fish for something in the pocket of your shorts, tossing it to Rob. ‘Time to rubber up, mate.’

  He rolls the condom down on to his erection. Considerate as ever, you’ve made sure the latex is ribbed – for my pleasure. Not that you’re not loving what’s happening too. Though I can’t even begin to know what’s going on inside your head, at the moment where your most cherished fantasy is finally about to be brought to panting, sweating life.

  Poising myself over Rob’s groin, I guide his cock into place and sink down. So used to your dimensions, it takes me a moment to adjust to his extra girth. Catching sight of myself in his mirrored wardrobe door, I almost laugh at the wide-eyed surprise on my face.

  As I feel him sliding slowly into me, I look over at you. Your shorts are off and you’re stroking yourself deliberately. You give me a wide smile of love and gratitude, and I can’t help returning it. How many years has it been since I’ve had sex with anyone other than you? It certainly hasn’t grown boring in all that time, but now the strangeness is wearing off, I’m relishing having another man inside me.

  Sounds drift in through the open window, laughter and what could be a man’s deep grunting, and I wonder what’s happening down in the garden. It’s only a brief distraction. Rob is reaching up to grab my tits, pinching my nipples roughly. Fired up by his caresses, I grind down hard, matching his ferocity with my own. With a despairing groan, Rob’s body stiffens beneath me, and he hangs on to my hips, keeping me still as he comes.

  He pulls out, flopping on his side on the bed as you take his place. You urge me up on my hands and knees, wanting to take me from behind. Easing your way into my depths, you hold steady for a moment. Your voice is an excited growl in my ear. ‘I can tell he’s stretched you just a little. Did it feel good?’

  ‘It felt absolutely brilliant,’ I reply sincerely. ‘But so do you.’