Guilt Free

She took hold of the bunched up dress, both sides, and raised it up, over those neat, brown breasts and black, olive nipple stubs, up and over her head, and off. Incredibly, she took the time to fold the dress before she put it on the vinyl above her partner's head. Then leaning on his shoulders, she began to raise her butt, the guy's cock shaft emerging from her hairless cunt, six inches of black, solid thickness, no sign yet of the head that she retained within, just for her to sink down on it again. The girl could fuck.

The guy's left arm was still stretched across Rosalind's chest, his hand still cupping her breast, her nipple stub no longer being gripped, but instead his palm covering her wide areola, while his forearm pressed down on the breast flesh nearer to him. If he could do that, then I could do reciprocate. The angles were all wrong to reach for his partner's olive nipple, but her thigh was within easy reach. It felt warm and giving as I stroked the brown flesh.

Rosalind must have had the same thought, to do to the Indian girl what her partner was doing to her own breast. Even before I entered her, she reached for the Indian girl's slight breast. The girl's butt was now rising and falling rhythmically, so Rosalind was reaching for a moving target, but she found it, taking hold of the olive nipple nearest to her with her thumb and finger. The guy whose cock the Indian girl was riding still had one hand free as well, and he took hold of the other olive nipple stub. Now both were being teased, one by a slender, pure white hand, nails painted brilliant red, the other by a strong, black, male hand, my own hand on her thigh just enjoying touching her, not teasing or tormenting, not squeezing, or twisting, as theirs were doing to the girl.

It would have been fine to watch a little longer, but I had my own fucking to do. I had spectated long enough. I drew back slightly, angled my cock to Rosalind's cunt and lowered my entire body. Eat your heart out, Metro-male. You want to see your guests walk in with one woman, and then fuck another, then that is just fine by us. It felt exquisite. You do not need to sin, or break a marriage vow, to luxuriate in willing, longed for, inviting, all embracing cunt. This was the only cunt that I would ever need. I might look at others, I might watch men touch this one but this cunt was the one and only cunt that I would ever want to fuck.

"Hi babe," I said, to Rosalind, as my cock went deeper.

"Hi," she said.

Women are so much better than a guy at multi-tasking. She was back to stroking Sarah, as Mike continued fucking her, meanwhile was still tweaking a nearby olive nipple stub, but she was fine to look at me and smile, and give me all of her attention now that my cock was deep inside her, deliciously just skin on skin.

"Good plan," I said.

"Thank you," she said.

Metro-man liked to see guests not just mingling, not just dancing with other guests, but fucking them as well. When in Rome, you do as the Romans do, so when you explore a swingers club, you swing. Or at least, you make it look like that is what is happening. Mike and I had switched partners, just as was expected, but we were not fucking each other's wives. Neither of us, as couples, want to play that game. We just like the atmosphere the club provides.

The way we played the system was so simple. Rosalind's idea. We just swopped wives before we even walked through the club's entrance doorway. Sarah is Mike's wife, but I went in with her. Rosalind was and is the love of my life, which is why it was Rosalind I was fucking in the play-room, but Mike walking in with her meant Metro-male assumed that she was his. Swopping wives again in the play room meant that we were back to being the happily married couples that we planned to remain forever, but it kept Metro-male content.

Just the same, the club environment was a real kick to our sex life. Watching Rosalind sandwiched between those two guys had been something else. Knowing her slit had been fingered while that was going on, had just made me want to fuck my amazing wife all the more. Remind her who she belonged to. Who her husband was. Who loved her, more than anyone or anything.

"I love you, babe," I told her.

Rosalind looked up at me.

"I love you too," she said. "I always will."

I glanced to the side. Mike fucking Sarah. I never would have believed that the couple who helped out with the summer fair each year, running the tombola, and who had sat discussing children, schools, church and politics at their and our respective dinner tables, would be fucking one another right beside us in a club like this. But there they were. Happily married, and happily fucking away.

Rosalind called my name.

"Babe?" I said.

She looked up at me with those blue eyes that I had fallen in love with more than twenty years before, their gentle wisdom, their mischievousness, their enduring, reciprocating love, and I knew that I would always love this woman, whose hair was like a golden halo, and be faithful to her, whatever temptations might come our way. Then she did that thing, clenching the muscles that surrounded my cock, squeezing it, several squeezes in succession.

"Do you think that you could fuck me now?" my forever loving, darling wife politely asked. "I'd like it hard, if that's okay with you."

"It's okay with me," I said, and started thrusting.