It was early in our dating, Karen and I had read several articles about the "new" swinging lifestyle that was becoming so popular in New York City: several new clubs had recently opened, and with some research, we found that right here in our village was a very large and famous club called "Michael’s Lounge."
Our first trip out was a bit of sensory overload: the entire club was filled with happy, fun loving couples, dancing, drinking, socializing and just plain making out on the dance floor. At 1AM sharp, the lights went down and red lights were turned on, illuminating the dance floor with an erotic glow. The ladies, most of whom were dressed like any other club goers, filed off into the ladies room in packs, emerging wearing little or nothing. A thong panty and heels, a string bikini and boots, or just shoes and a smile were the outfits of choice.
Not to be outdone, Karen smiled at me and filed off to do her part. As she returned, her tight body was accented by the glimmering, wet-look black, tie side bikini and the six-inch platform heels she was wearing. Onto the dance floor we went, spending most of the evening, dancing, touching and thrilling each other with our lustful expressions and whispered comments. The thrill of having my lady erotically portrayed for all to see and appreciate was such a tremendous thrill for me.
This routine repeated for several weeks, each night culminating in a wild love making sessions when we returned home. On more than one evening, her top mysteriously disappeared as she danced, leaving her naked breasts pressed against my chest, and proudly displayed for everyone in the club to enjoy.
A few weeks later, we were approached by a very attractive couple that were just about our ages, possibly a bit younger. Frank and Wendy were their names. They sat down at our table and began chatting us up. Frank owned a motorcycle shop that repaired British bikes only, BSA, Norton, and Triumph. Wendy, like Karen, was a teacher, so we all had lots in common to talk about. Our friendship continued to grow as we saw them for several weeks.
We had reached the point that we were dancing with each other’s ladies, grinding our bodies together on the dance floor and making out as we danced slow dances.
One week, while dancing with each other’s lady, Karen came over to me and said that Frank had invited us back to their home for a drink and to get more acquainted. She said that she wanted to go, and asked if I was willing.
"Sure," I said, "Why not?"
We gathered our belongings and clothes and met then at the club’s lobby.
Frank suggested that Wendy ride back with me, in my car, so I wouldn’t get lost, and that Karen come with him.
Wendy quickly grabbed my arm and said, "Let’s go."
Wendy started to drag me outside into the parking lot without giving me a chance to say anything more. Frank put his arm around Karen’s back, whispered something into her ear, and off we all went. A short ride later, we had arrived at their home, it was a very nice Tudor home in a very good section of town. Certainly, they were not slobs . . .
I did notice that as Frank exited his car, he stopped to pull his fly zipper up . . . and that Karen was licking her lips as she got out of his car.
As the evening was young, Karen was still dressed in her bright red, strapless leather dress, which she had slipped over her tiny bikini and heels. I was wearing my black leather jeans, matching leather shirt, and biker boots. Their home was lovely, quaint, and comfortable feeling. We all sat on the living room floor, with the stereo playing softly in the background, as Frank got us all drinks. Get to know each other conversation ensued, and our commonality of interests was even more obvious.
From the time we had entered their home: Wendy was right beside me, and Karen had become Frank’s companion, with his arm wrapped tightly around her.
Each of us were engaging in mild make-out play, and exchanging sexy glances and body language. It was obvious that Karen was not at all uncomfortable with this pairing, nor was I.
Wendy and I had drifted off into a conversation of our own, Frank and Karen were likewise engaged, their hands and fingers were roaming each others body, drawing little circles, and tracing the outlines of muscles with gentle, deliberate motions, designed to excite the tactile senses.
When they both stood up, Karen said that Frank was going to show her the entire house, I nodded "OK" and continued to talk with Wendy. Once they were out of the room, Wendy, without saying a word, began to undress, leaving only her spike-heel white boots on. Her body was lovely, and quite sexy to say the least. During her undressing, she never lost a word of our conversation. We continued to talk and started making out more intensely as she pulled my shirt off and began to rub, scratch and caress my chest. The play became quite heated, and my thoughts were centered on my own pleasures. Our hands roamed freely, pleasuring each other as we advanced in our play.
About 45 minutes later, Frank and Karen returned to the room as Wendy and I were locked in a very intense embrace. I had managed to begin fist-fucking Wendy, I had already gotten most of my hand inside of her soaking wet pussy, she was moaning and red-faced as she was lost in her throws of passion.
Frank was bare-chested, and Karen was totally naked, wearing just her heels. Their arms were around each other, and as they come into the room, They stopped and kissed in a very long and sensual embrace. Karen sat down on the couch directly in front of where Wendy and I were sitting on the floor. She acted as if nothing were changed, not being even outwardly aware that she had somehow "lost" her dress.