Peter leaned back in the booth, put his arms behind his head, stretched, and flexed a little. The gun show was back. “The things I have to do to keep our social calendar moving smoothly.” Sara poked him in the ribs for his temerity.
“I am a little surprised at… well, everything, but I’m surprised that…” Erika put in, flustered but curious. She went on embarrassedly, “I mean this is only your fifth time doing this this year?”
“Never done this before today and already you can’t imagine only once a month?” teased Sara.
Erika just looked embarrassed.
Peter came to her rescue, sort of. “I said four couples, I didn’t say four times. Deb and Paul, and Wendy and Francis both were reciprocal visits.”
“Wendy and Francis Hofstedder?” both Erika and I exclaimed, looking at each other. Our looks told us that our reaction was part shock… and part recognition that we DID in fact know another couple more than hot enough to consider. All four of us laughed at once.
I sobered and turned to Erika. “Still, if we decide to adopt their rules for ourselves, Rule Five might be a problem for us in the beginning….”
“They are OUR rules,” put in Sara firmly. “And we arrived at them over time. Rule Five would be hard to adhere to when you just discover swinging. And I’ll bet you two will find you’ve opened your minds about all sorts of adventures, maybe different ones from the ones we like.”
“That makes sense, Sara,” Erika mused quietly. “Thank you.”
“Oh, I just want to make sure we get that reciprocal invitation as soon as we can accept it,” sang out Sara gleefully. Her bare foot briefly slide upward along my calf.
“Now!” said Sara, clearly ready to change the subject. “Peter, we were here in the living room toward the end of things tonight. It was super hot watching you two.”
“You guys were spying!?” declared Erika loudly, but there was no heat in her voice, just a blush in her face.
Sara ignored the accusation. “Tell me about there at the end, Peter. Did you like that?”
Peter just grinned shamefacedly.
“Like it? Ha!” exclaimed Erika. She turned to me. “I don’t know how well you could see, but he practically painted my whole chest and face in whitewash.”
Now my wife was spontaneously BRAGGING to me about getting another man to spray his cum all over her. The night definitely remained delightfully weird. Again I reflected with somber disbelief on how comfortably, happily, dull Erika and I had become. It had to be almost a year since I had last stuck my cock into that perfect mammarian embrace. I had been a crazy man, and not in a good way.
Sara sighed. “I wish I’d been born with the equipment to do that with you, Peter.”
Peter looked at her.
I looked at her.
Erika looked at Sara and laughed lightly but genuinely. “‘Born with’? You think I got these naturally?” She cupped her breasts in her hands and went on. “These are aftermarket additions. An excellent investment, I’ll admit.”
Sara stared at her. “Those are fake? I mean, implants? But they look so real!”
“Thank you,” blushed Erika.
“The only other fake breasts I’ve ever seen were on Felicity Powell. She and her husband introduced Peter and me to all this lifestyle in the first place. Her fake tits were huge and looked like balloons,”chuckled Sara. “Peter told me they felt like balloons, too. Rule Three came into being because we stopped seeing them. I liked Gunther plenty, but Peter thought Felicity’s boobs were more distracting than exciting.”
“Erika’s are, as I’m sure George will agree, purely exciting,” put in Peter, trying and failing not to appear overly excited about this subject. “Their distracting nature is wholly welcome.”
“And they do feel great, too. Don’t they Peter?” I asked smugly, my hand now draped along Erika’s inner thigh.
Peter just smiled.
Erika leaned forward over the small kitchen table. “Implants come in a wide variety of shapes, sizes, prices… and feels. Go ahead, Sara. See what we are talking about.”
For the first time that night, it was Sara that seemed agog, instead of Erika or me. As she reached slowly out, her gaze was intense. Not the intensity of desire, but the intensity of curiosity. Her finger tips brushed Erika’s flesh and jerked back as if her breasts were a hot stove. Erika just laughed and leaned forward more.
Sara reached out and probed for real, then clasped both breasts, one in each hand, and her fingers sank into my wife’s bosom. Then the two of them commenced a clinical discussion about post-op recovery, bra requirements or the lack thereof, and the male gaze–welcome and otherwise.
They both suddenly paused their discussion, Sara’s hands still on Erika’s girls. “The men are staring at us like a couple of hungry wolves in a sheep pasture, aren’t they?” asked Erika.
“Men,” retorted Sara, her hands still testing the flexibility of Erika’s chest. “They can’t help but have lez fantasies at the drop of a hat.”
I tore my eyes from the show and looked at Peter. “I’d like thank you so much for the weirdest goddamned night of my life.”
Peter laughed. “And I would like to thank you for letting me be the first man to see your wife’s bounteous additions in the flesh besides you.”
“Not even close,” I murmured into my wine glass. Peter and Sara stared at us. Mostly at Erika.
Erika laughed. “Shortly after… these, our next two vacations were to resorts in Jamaica and St. Martaan that had clothing optional beaches.”
“Erika screwed up her courage to opt out of a top both times,” I added. I looked happily at Erika. “The aftermath of watching guys follow her around was pretty awesome.” I became serious for a moment. “It is a sign of how complacent we became with each other that we didn’t keep taking those vacations. I appreciate you guys reminding us about sexual adventure. And not just adventure, but a whole lot crazier sexual adventure than I’d ever dreamed of.” Erika just hugged my arm in agreement.
The fact that we had not kept going on that sort of vacation, daughter or no, really should have been a warning bell about the long glide path to complacency we had been on.
Sara stared at us. Then she reached over her shoulder and almost franticly grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil. She slapped them down in front of Erika and demanded, “Doctor’s name and phone number. Now!”
Erika just laughed at Peter, who seemed thunderstruck. “Manipulating us into letting you fuck me was a mistake Peter. I think I’ll turn out to be the most expensive piece of ass in your life!” she said silkily, dumbfounding Peter… and me!
Erika swiftly wrote down her doctor’s name and his website in lieu of a phone number. As she slid the paper across toward Sara, I slapped my hand down on it. Holding it firmly, I looked at Sara. “You have NO actual need to have any work done. If you want enhancements, great. My only warning it to get them done right, and that’s expensive.”
Peter sighed. “I’ll confess that I’ve seen the billboards and thought about this, so this may be an admission against my own interests, but George is flat-out right. I love your boobs as they are.” He took a breath. “If you do it, do it for you, not me.”
Erika was still holding the paper under my hand. “I’m not sure either of these horn-dogs believe what they just said, but they are correct. You have great tits. They are better than mine were before the baby, and way better than mine were after Merry and before the good doctor.”
Sara looked at us all silently and carefully. “Thank you all. It’s all good advice. Peter, you and I have a lot of deliberating to do before we decide.”
All four of us knew she’d get the boob job. Everything else was just formalities once she had felt up Erika.
Erika took her hand off the paper.
I kept mine on. “ALSO,” I continued. “When… IF Sara gets them done, you guys need to work out your Rule Five shit so that I can be the first guy besides Peter who gets to see and play with them. Call it a referral fee,” I finished with a leer. Everyone laughed. Sara put the paper away very carefully.