Back of the Bar [FM, MF]

We walk through the bar, to the banquet room at the back. The sign says “private event,” with no other description. They couldn’t, really. The regular bar patrons would stare or leave or complain. She looks at me, I nod, and she opens the door. There is a wall of curtains. They don’t want anyone casually looking in. We navigate around the curtains, and as we enter the big room, half the room turns to survey us, head to toe.We are the new meat.

Nine years in, but we both found our seven-year-itch. There are too many symptoms, some shallow, some deep. Emotional needs, evolving sexual desires, and even a bit of arrogance on both our parts, that maybe we each could have done better.

She had a lower sex drive years before, but turning forty had put her into overdrive. She lost weight, toned up her legs and ass and abs, and treated herself to “tasteful” implants. She chose a “full C,” quite a change from the barely there A-cups that I lamely call her A-pluses for almost a decade. She still has the mousy hair and eyeglasses, a librarian from the neck up, a porn-ready body from the neck down.

My journey is different. The tall, broad, fit man of a decade earlier wore the years heavily. My dark hair is gray on the sides. No longer well defined, fifteen extra pounds hide biceps and abs under a soft layer. The “work hard/ play hard” young professional ages into an overworked and underplayed man. The economic crash of 2008 is still fresh a year later. I worry about who I have to lay off next at work, not about how I’m getting laid.

The wife? As she grows bolder, as her midlife crisis wells, she asks for an open marriage. I explain that open goes both ways, and even on the wrong side of forty, the divorcees and never-married at work or around town would quickly find their way to a childless yet responsible-minded decent looking professional man. She bristles at the idea of not having control, and tries a new plan where she calls the shots.

The swinger party in the back room of the bar is couples-only, it is one of my stipulations. A “fair pool” for both of us, not a line of young studs looking at her new tits. If she wants something like that, I have no interest in trying to save things, she says she doesn’t want that. I make it clear to her: every time she touches a dick that isn’t mine, I will make it a point to fuck a new girl. I hope that might help her come to her senses, and I hope it’s not an idle promise.

We stand just past the curtain wall, and I survey the room. A cluster of young, attractive couples, a group of eight, goes back to their chatting. They are plainly uninterested in the middle-aged tourists. A lady in the nearest group pulls on the arm of her male partner. She is a weathered sixty-plus years old, so much time in the sun that her skin looks like it’s eighty. She points at me, obviously interested. Thank god her partner is old, the wife won’t make that match.

The young ones don’t want us, and I’m hoping the wife isn’t harboring some elderly fetish. I scan the three remaining groups. Closest to the food, farthest from the door, is a group I will learn are “the pros.” Four couples, each own a hot tub, all frequent the tanning beds. The wife and I don’t get that far into the room.

The next group? Well, I’m sure they aren’t *all* bikers, but the five men have shaved heads. They range from 35 to 50 in age, black t-shirts and sturdy boots. Three of the men are trying hard to keep goatees alive.

Their girls are … slutty. Various levels of pretty, but uniformly “down to fuck”. I guess we’re all slutty here, I’m not throwing stones. Twenty years earlier I learned to avoid these girls in the bars. If they were talking to me, often the biggest guy in the place, it was an excuse for their boyfriend to take a swing at me. Still carrying a scar under my left eyebrow, the lesson is retained.

I guide us past that group, the wife makes eye contact with one of them, and I regret agreeing to this for the the third time tonight. For Christ’s sake, I haven’t gotten my first drink yet. Her eye contact with the cue ball lingers, but I make it to the group that “looks like us.”

We join the conversation, introducing ourselves, and everyone is super friendly. Fresh meat remember? Tony introduces his wife Marcie, then himself. He’s athletic, 5’11” of what… soccer player, maybe. Whatever he does is active, he’s a lean type of fit. Marcie is cute. Maybe 5’1, an athlete who’s popped out a kid or two. She’s got mom butt, she’s hot in a tiny yet grown woman way.

Next are Luke and Laura, obviously using fake names for some reason. She’s in charge, a bit too severe of a face, but a smoking body. Taller than my wife, hotter than my wife, bigger fake tits than my wife, and Laura looks mean. No thanks. Her hubby is a six foot tall mouse of a man. I don’t think he said anything beyond hello that night.

Rita and Jesse are opposite us in the conversational circle, and It seems I’m going to fuck this woman. Jesse is a couple of my wife’s fantasies, and I see her eying him up. He’s Latin of some type, Colombian I think. His shirt is tight, he’s muscular and cut, and has the stubble beard that’s “in” back in 2009. Rita is also Latina. Jesse is the peacock of the couple, the showoff. Rita is dressed modestly, her primary extravagance is the deep maroon/red lipstick accentuating full lips. What I’m sure used to be a killer hourglass figure is now softer, a lovely echo of the young hottie she used to be. Rita looks a bit older than Jesse, under a style of “too much makeup” that evolves when hot women pass forty and want to hide the uncontrollable effects of aging.

The final couple in the group are Alice and Ron. Alice is a big gal. She is extra curvy, super thick but no rolls of obesity, just … big. Huge tits, double-wide ass, a pretty yet round face. She’s not short, and has to be over two hundred pounds, a good 25 heavier than the lean Tony, and probably a bit more than workout-warrior Jesse. I’m the only bigger person in the group, and she has not taken her eyes off me. My first thought of Alice is that we would have to fuck on the floor. The two of us would break a bed. Ron, her husband, is the vanilla-est guy you’d ever meet. Nice, funny, works in some kind of insurance. I wonder which of them decided it was time to fuck other people.

Tony and Marcie tell us about the life. She’s the queen of this little group, coordinates meetups every other month. In the opposite months, the meetups are open to single men, and “unicorns,” the almost imaginary bisexual girls that sleep with couples. Couples often find other couples at the meetups, then “date.” One night stands or longer term, it works like regular dating, but there’s four people that need to be happy. She goes on, it gets confusing. After the intro to “the lifestyle,” the conversation winds around the group, small talk and introductions.

As I turn to order my second beer, Jesse, the peacock, struts to my wife. She is looking hot but doesn’t go overboard. Boots and skinny jeans with a tight blouse. She’s showing off the goods, a toned body with new fake boobs, and Jesse is buying. He’s chatting her up, acknowledging me only to let Rita pass in my direction.

Rita wraps an arm around mine, cuddling up to me, and subtly turning me away from Jesse and the wife. This is a game, a dance, for the Latin pair. She distracts the other husband, giving her own man the space he needs to complete his seductions. As we go through the motions of small talk she catches me trying to turn and see my wife and Jesse. She purrs out flirty words and puts her arms around me, pulling me into a hug, and keeping me from seeing.

Rita is comfortable showing her affections, I’ve always been a bit stoic. She coos in my ear, caresses my arm and chest, flutters her fake eyelashes. She’s attractive, but a deep part of my brain knows that she’s playing the part, being a distraction. There is no desire behind her actions, and it doesn’t break through… I don’t “want” her.

After a half hour of aggressive flirting, she asks if I want to take things somewhere more private, a room in the motel adjacent to the bar. My inner “danger sense” goes off, and I turn around. The wife is leaning back on a table, arms around Jesse, whose two hands are somehow on the back of her neck, her ass, and on one boob at the same time. I feel a flush of blood, my fight or flight reflex going to “fight,” my brain wondering if my size is going to be enough against his speed and fitness. Then it passes… we chose to be here, we want to sleep with other people, right?

Rita tells me she has wanted to suck my cock since she saw me, and that our partners are having fun, why shouldn’t we? Rita knows the game well, getting the least excited partner to seem to initiate the action. They are clever, and I see Jesse glancing out the corner of his eye, seeing if I’ve taken the bait. It’s checkmate, I’ve been played, and decide to make the best of a bad deal. I tell her “Rita, I’m not here for blowjobs. We came to swap spouses, full swap.” The wife raises her eyebrows, surprised I’m walking into this willingly. Her expression sours slightly when I add, “Unless Jesse is only getting a blowjob too.”

Jesse interjects, “oh, no, no, no, we are all having fun.” He and Rita share eye contact, an unsaid message. The wife is smiling again, and Rita takes my hand after a moment, leading me to the door, our spouses close behind us. The room erupts in a half-drunken chorus of “ooowooo,” a regression to high school silliness from the assembled middle aged and elderly swingers. The old lady catches my eye again, and gives me an approving nod. This is so weird, but I’m still in.

The motel room is exactly what you were expecting. It’s not nice, but there are two full beds, and dark curtains, all we need. Jesse takes the wife to the other side of the room. A hard kiss turns into a tumble onto the mattress, wife conveniently pinned under the muscular Latino. Rita puts my hands on her hips, and starts to move, dancing to a song only she can hear, pulling me close, sharing the heat of her body.

Jesse’s already got the wife’s top off. He’s a boob guy, Rita’s natural but sagging Ds are a contrast to wife’s perky new implants, but he likes big tits. He unhooks her bra and whispers “dios”. The wife always had nipples the size of the last part of my pinky when they were hard. On top of her perky much bigger boobs, the hard oversized nipples are pornographically hot.

Rita lets out a disapproving “hmmph.” She wriggles our of her tight skirt and black, lacy panties, guiding my hands to her womanly ass. She’s got a lovely flared behind, different from the athletic and narrow girls who draw my attention. It’s … nice. She’s soft in a way that the wife is not, and my buddy down below likes it. Rita feels him stir, and smirks. She doesn’t say anything but her expression says, “fuck that skinny fake bitch, her man needs a *woman*.”

She takes off my shirt, then my pants, and I no longer care what’s going on in the other bed. Rita is naked from the waist down, my three-quarters hard cock swinging freely, her every passing caress teasing it a bit more, slowly bringing it to full attention. I am disappointed I don’t get my own “dios” here. The teasing touches evolve into her grabbing it with both hands, starting to slowly jerk me off before we have even lay down on the bed. It’s a move I’m sure has worked for her in the past, a hand job to avoid an unwanted swap while Jesse pounds away at some poor sap’s wife. I’m not a genius, but I’ve already noticed there’s a game here. I’m not losing the game easily. I move to embrace her, pull her close and incidentally bring her arms to my shoulders, ending the hand job.

She dances us back to the edge of the bed, and with a nudge has me sitting. My cock is jutting out, eagerly, and the faint sounds of foreplay break through from behind me, from the other bed. She’s making a familiar whimpering, Jesse either has fingers or his tongue on her pussy lips, and inside her.

I don’t care, as Rita is about to prove her specialty. She wriggles to her knees, sexy even in that routine movement. Once she is between my legs, I worry that I can’t back up my line about not being here for blowjobs.

Her lips kiss my tip, and glide over my head, then down another inch on my shaft. Some women are halfhearted when giving blowjobs, others are trying to do tricks like deepthroating. Rita is skilled and enthusiastic. The light suction never stops as she moves her lips up and down me. Her tongue is dancing and writhing around my shaft as she sucks, she’s giving me an experience doing something many women see as a chore. I’ve been skeptical of how much Rita really wants to swap, but I can attest at that moment that the lady loves to have a cock in her mouth.

I enjoy the best oral of my life for five minutes, and think to myself that I’m going to blow soon if I don’t change things up. I put my hands on Rita’s cheeks, urging her to look up, eye contact. She does. She keeps my dick in her mouth and looks into my eyes. Her expression says “don’t make me stop sucking you,” but I’ve made a promise.

I tell her I’m going to put a condom on now, and she disengages, pouting. As I stand, I grab all four pillows and lay them on the bed, stacked two-high. “Lay back on that, with your butt at the edge, while I get the condom on.” I haven’t worn a condom in a decade. I used to be competent getting one on, but I’m out of practice, it takes a moment. Rita is getting impatient. Jesse is pounding away at the wife. I heard her cum earlier, while he went down on her is my guess. He won’t get her off in missionary, but he’s too focused on himself to ask. He doesn’t seem the type to let her get on top and drive.

Condom finally on, I take Rita’s legs and put her ankles on my shoulders. I ask, “do you want my cock, baby” and she replies coolly, “I’ll fuck you.” It’s an odd answer. She was enthusiastic with my dick in her mouth, less so with her legs in the air. She takes my swollen member in her left hand, spreads her lips with her right, and guides me into her. She keeps her right hand between her legs, a natural brake to prevent me going too deep.

This position isn’t about deep. Her torso is angled up to me. As I press into her, a bit deeper each thrust, I reach the point I’m looking for. I’m a bit over half inside her, gliding forward slowly, and I hear my music, a guttural “uuuungh” as my dick massages her g-spot and she reflexively crunches her abs. Her eyes have been closed to this point, but after the third thrust without going deeper, after another pair of grunts, her eyes pop open, wide. She’s been passive, something has changed. Just then I hear Jesse moan-mumbling “I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” as the rhythmic slapping from the next bed slows, then stops.

Jesse’s round is over, but Rita’s has just gotten interesting. Her eyes are open now, there’s some bliss in there, and some surprise, and a little… what… fear? I hope she’s not afraid of me, I’m being gentle, but focused. I’ve got my right hand around her legs, helping her keep them up, and making sure she stays angled for what I’m doing. My left hand is on her lower belly, softly, with my thumb brushing her hood, teasing her clit.

Meanwhile, every slow thrust deliberately massages her g-spot. First the head, then the spongy ridge at the base of my head, then again where my cock thickens, I go slowly, she feels each different sensation. Each time the head presses and passes that magical spot, Rita clenches and moans. She tries to fuck back, but other than weakly thrusting her hips, there’s nothing she can do but enjoy. I see the moment where she starts coming. Tiny beads of sweat sprout on her upper lip, her forehead. My wife thrashes when she has an orgasm, but Rita vibrates. Her toes clench and I feel her ankles moving along my shoulders and neck. Her eyes are closed again, but her hands are clenching and lightly clawing at my belly and the area above my cock.

She stops shaking after ten or fifteen seconds, and a realization comes over her. Her eyes pop open once again, I haven’t stopped, same rhythm, same spot, same sensations. She’s not a verbal fuck, but her emotions are played full screen on her face. Its definitely fear. She doesn’t like to be out of control, and when she comes, she’s very much not in control.

I’ve entirely mis-read Jesse and Rita. He’s not a prideful peacock, fucking wives and dragging Rita along. He’s her trophy. Swapping is her way of showing him off, lording her perfectly sculpted and sexy man over the ladies with their older softer weaker men. I’m older, I’m a bit softer, but I’m a stubborn SOB. Rita, the always “in-control” Rita, didn’t get out of the room giving only a handjob. She didn’t claim ownership of me with her skilled mouth.

The fear of losing control shines brightly through her eyes as she starts to come again. It’s been a short two minutes but she’s squirming and shaking again. The fear rolls to anger, anger at herself for losing control, as her hands go under her blouse and grab at her tits. Where her hands were a symbolic barrier between us earlier, stopping me from thrusting deep, she’s now gone primal. She squeezes her own tits and moans as the wave breaks over her third orgasm.

My wife harrumphs to get my attention. Jesse is on his back, spent for now, but the wife is not happy anymore. Jesse gave her a sample platter of a fuck, full of promise of future sessions and growing to know each other’s bodies. I’ve given Rita my A game, knowing I will never fuck this lady again. The wife is impatient, usually she’s getting multiple Os.

The lady who was so dismissive of me that she didn’t even take her shirt off? She’s building to a fourth shaking orgasm, and she’s about to hit the wall. You can’t keep hitting the same spot, a woman gets raw, or oversensitive, or … something. Clit, g-spot, nipples, you learn that they’ve got to rest a little. You learn to change it up.

Coming down off of orgasm number four, Rita forces her legs off my shoulders, wrapping them around my waist, pulling me in. She starts moaning too loudly, telling me she wants it, using her legs to pull me in deeper and faster. This is not passion. This is “please fucking come already, I need to stop.” I let myself go, deep fast strokes, no holding back. My measured pace gone, I’m sweating, breathing hard, and after a brief but frantic fuck, I spasm, coming. I plant my dick as deeply into Rita as I can, and after a few moments of seeing stars, I pull out, and flop onto the bed beside her, both of us contemplating the ceiling and breathing too hard.

Jesse stirs after a few moments of a room silent except for heavy breathing. Jesse springs out of my wife’s bed to his Rita and gives her a hug, then a kiss, and tells her he loves her. She kisses his cheek and weakly asks him for a damp washcloth. I’m the last to move, standing and taking the full condom off my flagging member. Rather than our partners’ post-swap warmth toward each other, my wife purses her lips as I clean off. No warmth at all, it will take me another year to understand that.

After we all tidy ourselves up and dress, we hug our sex partners. My wife’s anger at me spills over to her hug with Jesse, she’s chilly. Rita is upset with herself for losing control, but whispers to me “you’re good. You’re going to make those putas scream.” We make our way back from the motel to the bar, and as we enter the banquet room, there is clapping and a few shouts of “new meat.”

Jesse, the wife and I make our way back to our group. Luke and Laura are gone, Alice and Ron are about to leave. Alice’s face lights up when we return. She walks right up to me, smiles while poking a finger in my chest, and says “next time.” Ron gives contact info to the wife. He whispers something in my wife’s ear. I never find out what he said, but her eyebrows raise, and she smiles.

Rita rejoins the group as Alice and Ron say goodbye. The older lady is with her. “I’m Patricia. You two are better than bimonthly meetups and dirty hotels. You *must* come to the club. But you,” and she points at my nose, “have some respect for yourself, lose some weight.” I just fucked a stranger in the same room where my wife fucked a different stranger, but I’m hypocritically skeeved at the idea of “the club” while I’m recovering from being fat shamed by a lady whose skin is pretty much beef jerky. It’s a very weird night.

After a few minutes of chit-chat, Patricia goes back to her group. Another of the older ladies pointedly looks over, in a very hungry way. New meat indeed. We talk a bit more with Tony and Marcie, Marcie trying to be a personal swinger support group for my wife while Tony and I talk football. We leave, and spend a silent forty five minute ride home.

As we turn onto the cul de sac, I try to cut the tension “man, what an odd bunch of people. I guess we won’t be doing that again, right?” The wife has been stewing for almost an hour. If I know her, she has been replaying the night in her head, over and over. Her voice is tight as she replies, too controlled, and she almost growls “oh no, we are definitely going back.”

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/as5k9w/back_of_the_bar_fm_mf