Swinging in the 70s Ch. 06

I woke to the gentle bouncing of the bed as Monica crawled in, leaving me meat in a sandwich of womanflesh and womanwarmth.

"Welcome home," I said softly.

She snuggled against me and it was clear she was naked. Warm skin and firm breasts felt good.

"Don't hate me," she said, her voice soft and husky.

"Not a chance," I said, softly, aware of Ingrid asleep beside me.

"Will you still kiss me?" she asked.

Something in her voice made me open my eyes and turn to look at her.

I could see adequately. The way the trailer park is laid out, not quite just a trail cut in the woods but still plenty of trees, it got very dark at night so we left one 40-watt blub burning in the bathroom as a night light.

And she was a mess.

It was obvious she had given oral sex and had pulled off at the last instant. A line of thick white semen crossed her nose to the corner of her mouth.

I smiled and said, "You are SO sexy," and kissed her. I didn't do anything silly like try to avoid the spunk on her face, I just kissed her. I was very aware of the feeling of it on the tip of my nose as we kissed.

"I'll take some of that action," Ingrid said and I felt her big leg swing across me as he rolled up to make it a weird, awkward, three-way kiss.

"So," Ingrid said, and her breath made me think of the line from the Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard song Pancho and Lefty, "and your breath's as hard as kerosene," "Do you want your husband's cock or his mouth."

"Well," Monica said, "It seems you've already had his cock, soooooooooooo."

"DEAL," Ingrid said and she started scooting around.

For the next several seconds I was pretty much an observer as the two women in my bed worked out their logistics.

Before long, though, Monica was straddling my hips and Ingrid had managed to get her calves under my arms. When she started leaning back and lowering herself she pinned my arms completely, all of her weight clamping heavy thighs against calves.

"Ohhhh yeah," Ingrid breathed and reached down, opening herself as she settled onto my face. She was leaking my semen and running with her own natural honey. I opened my mouth wide to accept her, enjoying the taste and sensation as, at the same time I started sucking gently, pulling her inner lips into my mouth and enjoying the way they were swelling I felt the familiar tightness of Monica accepting me into her body.

I was trapped, helpless, and experiencing sensory overload. My arms were locked between Ingrid's calves and thighs. My hips were pinned to the mattress by Monica's weight. The way I was buried in Ingrid's pussy I was having trouble breathing. When she rocked her hips back she cut off my air completely and I started to get lightheaded. I could kick my legs but that was about it. I had no leverage at all.

And I liked it.

This was sensation beyond sensation. Hell, it was sensation beyond any sensation I had ever imagined. Like every man, I suppose, I had fantasized about the famed menage a trois, but I had never really thought about what it meant. I suppose, on some level, if I thought about it, I pictured a kind of gentle event with two women using their skills to satisfy me.

This was the exact opposite of that.

I was a sex object for them, nothing more. Monica could do as well with a dildo on a stand. Ingrid could do what I was doing with fingers and some sort of vacuum device.

If I had air, I would have chuckled. "What in the fuck is so bad about being a sex object?" I asked myself. "Seems pretty damn sweet to me."

And it was.

My hearing was kind of muffled the way my head was cushioned between Ingrid's heels, but what I heard was good. Ingrid and Monica were obviously playing with each other as they used me for their masturbatory toy and the occasional, "mmmmmm," or, "Oh yeah," or, "Harder," came through clearly.

For me, it was fun in an oddly disassociated way. I wondered, even as I used my tongue to draw an interesting shudder from Ingrid, if there was a word for this. I was feeling the warmth and wetness of Monica, as she rocked her hips while impaled on my erection but feeling no particular urgency to finish. In the same way, I was feeling and tasting and smelling Ingrid as my tongue pleasured her. I was feeling and enjoying, but there was no rush.

Then Ingrid came and I was drowning.

That's not hyperbole.

When she came my mouth and nose were completely covered and she came hard. Her release suddenly filled my mouth and nose and I had no way to release the pressure. I aspirated and felt the salty nectar of her ecstasy burning down my throat, scalding my trachea. My sinuses were packed full and started burning as well. I was slapping at her legs but I had no leverage at all. My legs were kicking and I was trying to buck Monica off but, again, I had no leverage.

I was frightened. Hell, I was terrified. I thought I was dying.

And I came.

The pure pleasure, the physical ecstasy of a powerful ejaculation, and it was a powerful ejaculation, didn't supplant the pain in my throat or my sinuses, it joined it.

I don't know, if I'm being honest, if Ingrid realized I was in trouble or if it was just part of her normal technique to lift, but she lifted.

And I coughed, spraying her pussy and ass with the nectar and mucus and saliva that had accumulated in my mouth and trachea. When she started to settle back I turned my head, still coughing, drawing in air in loud whoops, as if I had been drowning.

"I think he's really in trouble," I heard Monica say as she pulled off of me, "Let him up."

The pressure eased as Ingrid leaned forward and then lifted her pussy and ass off of me. I kept breathing in those loud whooping gasps as she went through the awkward stretching and squirming to get us untangled.

I was coughing and gagging, struggling to breathe. Monica got out of bed and came to the side, brushing my soaked hair away from my face and, kind of inanely I thought, asked, "Are you okay?"

Ingrid laughed, patted my shoulder, and said "He'll be okay." She rubbed my shoulder then and added, "Won'tcha, Davey."

I waved my hand feebly as I continued to cough. I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks and my nose running.

She laughed again and pushed me, rolling me out of bed. I managed to get my feet under me, avoiding falling flat on my face, and stood, well, bent over, still coughing, trying to clear my lungs.

"Are you okay?" Monica asked again.

This time I managed a weak, "Yes."

"See," Ingrid said, still laughing, "Now Davey, run into the kitchen and bring a couple of beers and I'll school you children."

So I went, staggering a little as hard as I was coughing but feeling my lungs finally starting to clear.

I stopped in the bathroom to pee, spattering piss all over the place when another coughing fit took me. Finished, and cleaned up using a significant fraction of the roll of toilet paper, I washed my hands, chuckling a little as I did that given what I had been doing. I did a double-take when I looked in the mirror. Jesus. It looked like someone had smeared a BIG jar of warm Vaseline all over my face and hair. I thought about washing my face but then thought, "Fuck it."

So I did as she had asked (directed? told?), and grabbed a couple of beers from the refrigerator.

When I got back to the bedroom, very aware of the mess I was, I felt a twinge in my cock as I saw Monica latched onto Ingrid's breast and Ingrid lightly stroking Monica's hair.

"Gimme," Ingrid said, reaching for the extra beer in my hand.

She grinned when she saw that I was no longer completely soft. "You men," she said, dramatically rolling her eyes, "You all just want to watch."

I wasn't sure what to do so I stood there and took a drink from the beer.

She laughed and said, "Come on, David, lay down and let Mama Ingrid school you guys."

So I propped the pillow against the headboard, making a kind of bedseat, and climbed into bed beside her.

"Teach me, Sensei," I said. A few years later I might have said something like "Teach me the ways of the Force, Obi-wan."

"Well, Grasshopper," she said, doing her best blind guy from Kung Fu impression, "in The Life there is only one rule." She reached down and patted Monica's head, "Are you listening, Grasshopperette?"

Monica replied, "Mmmpffffff," while nodding.

"There's only one rule," Ingrid started again, "and that can be summed up in one word."

She paused for dramatic effect.

"Consent," she finished before taking a drink from her beer.

"For us girls, that's not a problem," she went on, smiling at me and patting where I was, well, the word you see in those romance novels is tumescent. I wasn't hard but I was slowly hardening. "You men NEVER say 'no.'"

Another drink of her beer.

"But women sometimes say 'no,' and it can be for any reason," she went on. "In my case, the first day of my period I'm out of commission and might say no. But a woman might just not like you, or want to do anything right then, or really have the proverbial headache, or have a hangnail. It really doesn't matter."

Another pause for a drink.

"In my four years in The Life," she went on, "there has only been one case where a man wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. I believe he's walking with a cane now, finally off the crutches." she looked at me. "Get the picture?"

"Yes," I said, "and for the record, I would never consider forcing a woman."

"I know, David," she said, "but things can get intense when you join The Life and it's easy to think something like, 'well, she said yes the last dozen times, she doesn't really mean it this time.' But for all of us, 'no' ALWAYS means 'no'."

Something about the way she said "The Life," some subtle emphasis or change in tone, I'm not quite sure what if I'm being honest, made the capitalization clear. As I learned later, everybody thought of it that way. What has gone down in history as "swinging," or just part of the "sex, drugs, and rock and roll" generation was always referred to that way, when we talked of it at all, and Monica and I quickly adopted that tone. Decades later when I was watching Sons of Anarchy and some character, along with the title song of course, talked about "This Life" I flashed back to those days of the 1970s.

For a couple of minutes, while I processed and finished my beer, the only sound in the room was Monica's soft hum as she suckled.

"You like your Earth Mother image, don't you?" I asked Ingrid, putting the beer on the headboard and rolling up onto my side, allowing my hand to start lightly caressing her ample body. I liked the roundness of her belly, the feeling of that thick coarse pubic hair against my palm was erotic and as I reached lower and found the hair soaked with her thick nectar I started playing with it.

"Well," she said, and her voice was thoughtful, "I accept that I'll never be a slender runway model anyway."

"No," I said, and yes, I was very aware, cognizant was the word from one of the psychology classes I had to take as part of my teaching curriculum, of just how surreal it was, having this conversation with a woman while my wife suckled at her breast, "it's more than that. You like the fertility goddess image. The only question is, why don't you have a swollen belly and lactating breasts?"

She smiled at that, but I thought it was a sad smile.

"I can't," she said. "There were complications with my pregnancy and that will be my only baby."

"Oh," I said, feeling abashed, "Sorry."

She smiled, but her eyes were overflowing. "Not your fault, David," she said, "if anything, it's my parents' fault. They kept me away from all of the prenatal stuff and things were too far gone before I even knew there was a problem."

She shook her head, took a deep breath, and finished her beer.

"I didn't come here to cry," she said, and lifted her free breast, offering her nipple.

I didn't hesitate. I latched on in the way Monica had taught me, drawing the nipple, areola, and some tissue into my mouth before closing my lips and sucking, very gently, establishing a latch. As I began massaging the nipple and areola, very hard now, against the roof of my mouth with my tongue, I found Monica's hand and guided it down until we were both playing with Ingrid's pubic hair.

Our fingers played and found her nether lips, opening her gently, and I liked the way Ingrid parted her legs, offering. She had my head cushioned in her arm and her fingertips were playing in my hair.

And she was wet. Jesus, she was flowing.

Through the sort of unspoken communication of married couples, Monica and I gently inserted fingertips into Ingrid's labia and started opening her. As we did that, her hips started rocking, pushing her mons up, the offer clear in what her body was doing.

It felt perfectly natural to me and, evidently, to Monica as well, to probe deeper into Ingrid and open her even more. I had three fingers in her, all the way until my little finger laid across and touched Monica's hand.

That same unspoken communication was still working.

I pulled, Monica pulled, and we stretched Ingrid open wide.

She cried out, came, spraying far down the bed, and prolapsed.

Prolapse is such an ugly word for such a beautiful thing, isn't it?

I felt her cum, the hot wet release suddenly soaking my fingers. I heard her cry. And then I felt something, slick and almost hard, against my knuckles.

I pulled off of her nipple, drawing another little cry from her, and pushed myself up until I was on my knees beside her, looking.

"Oh, shit," was my first thought, "we really hurt her."

It was pink and shiny, an oversized pear, protruding from her pussy, nestled between her thighs. Monica's hand was supporting it.

Ingrid was still making soft little, "Unhhh unhhh unhhh" sounds.

"What?" I asked softly.

"It's her uterus, David," Monica said, almost pedantic in her tone, "it's called prolapse."

I stared and she giggled.

"Jesus, David," Monica said, "put your eyes back in her head."

"I never," I said and wound down. I had no idea how to finish that sentence.

"Go ahead," she said, smiling and I wasn't sure if she was smiling at me or Ingrid, "touch it."

"Oh, Jesus," I breathed, reaching very tentatively.

"Oh, Jesus," I breathed again, touching. It was firm and pink and slick with her natural lubricants.

"Go ahead," Monica said, and when I looked up her eyes were big and her face flushed, "kiss it, David."

I had no chance at all of not doing what she wanted. I bent, slowly, and as I got closer, Ingrid's womanscent was powerful, and I found myself getting hard.

It seemed natural to reach under and support it as I bent to kiss.

"That's right, David," Monica said, leaning forward so her lips were close to my ear, each word a soft warm puff, "it's her true core. Kiss it."

I kissed and the taste had a slightly bitter undertaste, something I would later learn was the product of glands deep inside, a taste that got lost in the secretion of the mucus membranes lining her vaginal walls but, well, her vaginal passage wasn't involved right now.

"Go ahead," Monica said, "suck it."

I covered her cervix with my lips and began sucking, very gently, and suddenly she came again. It was hot and thin and salty as she grunted and gasped and suddenly what I was holding pulled away and disappeared into her.

"Go ahead," Monica said again, "take what you want," and she touched where I was hard.

"Monica," I said, meeting her eyes.

She smiled.

"I want to watch," she said simply.

I rolled into position to get my knees between Ingrid's. She was slick and wet and loose and I slipped in easily.

"Tell her she's beautiful," Monica said, her hand light on my back.

"You're beautiful," I said, and kissed Ingrid as my wife watched.

Ingrid grinned up at me.

"I ain't beautiful, Sweety," she said, "I'm barely cute. Now, fuck me."

"No," Monica said, softly, in my ear, "tell her she's beautiful and make her believe it."

I moved so I was supported by my elbows and used my hands to gently brush her frizzy red hair off of her face, kissed her, and said, "No, you're beautiful."

"Not bad looking," she said back to me.

"No," I said, brushing my fingertips lightly across her face, lightly touching her eyelids and her lips, "You're beautiful."

"Cute," she said.

"Beautiful," I said, kissing her again.

She closed her eyes and I saw tears start leaking down her cheeks.

"You are Earth Mother," I said, "you are Fertility Goddess. You are all women condensed into one beautiful redhead," and I kissed her again.

"Right now," she said, her eyes still closed, "I can believe you."

"Good job," Monica said in my ear, startling me. I was so deeply into what I was doing I forgot she was there.

"Now, fill her up," Monica said, and patted my ass.

So I did. Well, I let my rhythm speed up and felt Ingrid's body respond.

And I could hear the excitement in Monica's voice as she urged us on.

"That's right, David, make her believe you," she said.

"That's right, Ingrid, you're beautiful, accept his gift," she said.

I could feel Ingrid's body responding now, vaginal muscles squeezing and relaxing, squeezing and relaxing, her natural honey hot and wet and very slick now.

"Wait for her, David," Monica said.

Her voice helped me re-establish my control.

"That's right, wait for her," she said again.

I felt Ingrid getting close then, her hips starting to buck, looking for her climax.

So I matched her rhythm, thrusting hard, feeling a hard thud as our pubic bones met.

She came and I was one thrust behind her.

"Beautiful," Monica whispered in my ear.

"Beautiful," I said softly to Ingrid.

"Oh Fuck," Ingrid said softly.

I laid back then, stretching out, and relaxing.

And corked off to sleep.