The Browns [MMFF] [Exhibitionist] [Oral] [Swing]

*Note: I write stories for my wife. This is one of them!*

We finally met the Browns at the pool. That wasn’t their last name, the Browns. We didn’t even know their first names, never did learn what they were, which made it even more surreal reflecting back on everything that happened during that long weekend in Mexico. We had taken to calling them the Browns after seeing them in matching swimsuits, her in a brown two-piece, and he in long brown trunks with a yellow stripe down the side.

“Do you think they did that on purpose?” you asked when we noticed them on the first day we arrived at the resort. We were sitting on a swinging bench amongst the trees waiting for our room to be ready as they headed towards the sound of waves crashing against the beach.

“Probably,” I said, taking a sip of my drink. “I bet they’re on their honeymoon.” They seemed too old to be on their honeymoon though. They appeared to be our age, mid-to-late thirties, both with bodies suggesting they were busy parents back home, wherever that was. She was a little taller than you, a little more curvy, with sandy blonde hair tucked into a ponytail. He was shorter than me, but not by much, and heavier. Not fat, just thick, with shaggy black hair wetly tucked under a Red Sox baseball cap and a short beard to match.

It seemed like we saw them everywhere on that trip. At the breakfast buffet once, at dinner twice, at the bar, at the beach. This wasn’t abnormal for a trip like this. The resort was big, but not too big, and it was inevitable that you crossed paths with other couples on a regular basis. It did seem odd, though, how often we saw the Browns—especially on that first day.

Our most memorable sighting came later that first night as we left dinner. Still unfamiliar with the resort grounds and a bit tipsy, we haphazardly crunched down the loose gravel pathways connecting the various resort buildings in search of our room. Night had consumed this corner of the world, and the path was difficult to see, lit only by the twinkling white lights draped in the trees above and the occasional glow coming from an occupied hotel room. More than once we started down the wrong path only to hit a dead end, having to turn around and backtrack, and it was at one of these darker dead ends of the pathway where we heard the distinct sound of what could only be two people fucking.

We both stopped, unsure of what we were hearing at first. Our footsteps against the gravel now silenced, it became clear what it was and where it was coming from: a hotel room, brightly lit and half hidden through the trees not ten feet beyond where we stood, frozen. Draped over the patio chair was that matching brown two-piece swimsuit and trunks left to dry, the Red Sox cap upside-down on the table beside. The patio door was open, a set of sheer curtains swirling in the wind, revealing an occasional glimpse into their room. She was laid in bed on her back, a black dress pulled up around her waste, legs spread, hands gripping the headboard above. He was on top of her, shirtless, his linen pants down below his waist, ass bare, as he pressed into her, their moans leaking out into the night air. We lingered only briefly, too surprised to move at first, but long enough to know what we saw, long enough to be turned on, to capture that brief moment in our memories as fuel for our own passion when we finally found our way back to our room.

It was this sighting which made for an awkward introduction the next day at the pool.

“Hey man,” he said to me from behind as he walked up to the pool bar where I was waiting for our drinks. “We’ve been seeing you guys around a lot this weekend.”

Linen pants. Bare ass. Black skirt. Legs spread. Moaning. I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

“Right, likewise, nice to meet you,” I told him, and turned around to notice his wife had swam up to you in the pool and you were both talking. Something about this felt coordinated, but I brushed the thought aside and made conversation.

He placed a drink order while we discussed the typical things you say to a stranger who you just met and will likely never meet ever again. Where are you from? How long have you been here? What do you do? But no names. It didn’t even occur to me to ask. What was the point? He pulled out his wallet to pay and I noticed a shiny black Tesla credit card key similar to my own tucked in front of his driver’s license.

“What model do you have?” I asked, pointing towards his wallet.

“Oh, the Tesla?” he replied. “Model 3.”

“Nice,” I said. “I’ve got the Y.”

The bartender continued to work on our drinks while we talked about our respective cars, the hype surrounding Tesla’s new yet-to-be-released truck, the weirdness of Elon Musk on Twitter, and everything in between.

“Have you tried their tequila?” he asked.

“I haven’t,” I replied. I knew Tesla often made one-off products like flamethrowers and RC cars as a joke, and I remember seeing something about their own brand of tequila as well, though I had never tried it.

“It’s really good, and comes in this crazy weird lighting-bolt shaped bottle. I’ve got some back in our room. You should come check it out,” he offered.

Their room was identical to ours. Same layout, same bed, same TV, same art on the walls. Just like our room, two chairs sat opposite at the foot of the bed, a small table with a lamp between the two chairs. On this table he sat down two highball glasses and filled each with ice. He invited me to sit, and poured each glass a quarter full with the lighting bolt tequila. He and I talked for a while, taking sips of the tequila and sharing stories from our respective trips. After a few minutes, you and his wife came walking through the door and into the room.

She immediately sat down on his knee, curling herself up to him. Not knowing what to do, you sat directly across from me on the edge of the bed. This was awkward, I thought, and the look on your face said the same. They began to kiss. Not quick kisses but long, deep kisses. He had sat his drink down on the table and was running his hands down her legs.

We looked at them and back at each other, unsure of what to do. I raised my eyebrows as if to say “well, now what?” and you responded, surprisingly, by getting up from the bed, coming over to me, and sitting down on my knee. I pulled you closer, my hand against your ass and your body now resting against my chest like she was with him. We kissed. These kisses felt different. Not the kisses of a 20-year-old marriage, but the kisses of a 20-minute-old fling. They were hot and wet and effortless. Where we were, and who we were with, added a new energy to these kisses. My hands explored your bare legs, a sheer swim wrap the only thing covering your swimsuit, and I could tell you were trembling, could almost feel your heartbeat against me.

A thud against the tile floor broke our connection and we glanced over, the sound of her flip-flops falling as she sat on top to face him, now straddling his legs, still kissing. Her body sunk lower and lower until she slid slowly off of his lap and onto the floor between his legs. We watched as she ran her hands up and down his thighs slowly, caressing them with her finger tips before stopping at his waistband. We stopped kissing completely now and watched the scene unfold next to us. Finally she pulled his shorts down slowly, all the way to his ankles, his now cock now out and in the opening, resting against the chair at half attention. This was notable because it was the first dick other than my own that you had seen in almost 20 years, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of it.

I moved my hand to your chest and pulled down your swimsuit enough to expose your tits, pulling and twisting your nipples lightly, which sent shivers up and down your body and pulses of pleasure towards your pussy with each touch. You moaned softly while we watched her next to us, holding his now hard dick with her hands and taking him into her mouth, moving up and down his cock slowly. He sighed loudly. Her swimsuit top was now down around her waist, tits rubbing up against his legs.

You shifted your body on my lap enough so your legs were no longer closed against each other, and I took the hint and moved my hand down, pulling your swimsuit bottom to the side to reveal your pussy. I pushed two of my fingers between your already wet lips and rubbed your clit in small, soft circles as you continued to moan, this time louder than you expected. Both of them were now looking at us while they continued with each other, and our hearts raced with a new excitement of being watched, another man seeing your tits, your soft, bare pussy. I increased the speed and pressure of my fingers as they circled your clit, matching the pace of her mouth and hands as she worked up and down his cock next to us.

For a brief moment our perspectives shifted, like an out-of-body experience, where we took in the scene like a fly on the wall. What the hell was going on? How did we get in this situation? There we were, sitting not two feet from another couple we just met. You were on my lap, your legs spread, pussy and tits exposed while I worked you with my fingers, wetness dripping down your thighs. Next to us they sat, his pants around his ankles, cock deep inside of his wife’s mouth.

By the time we came back to reality, I could tell you were on the edge of cumming. After all these years I knew the signs—hips moving ever so slightly, leg muscles tighten and flex, moans growing louder. I cupped your tits in my free hand, pulling harder on your nipples while moving faster and faster against your clit. He, too, was getting close, his moans growing louder, and she moved to sit upright and bring his cock closer to her tits, working it faster and faster with her hands. “Come for me baby,” she said to him, which immediately sent both of you over the edge, almost simultaneously, your legs convulsing with pleasure as the orgasm crested like a wave, his cock exploding with cum all over her tits. You looked incredibly sexy, laid out against my body, legs still spread as the orgasm worked its way through your body; as did she — on her knees, continuing to work his dripping cock, rubbing it against her tits to get every last bit out and onto her already covered tits. I looked around, somewhat confused but happy and smiling, wondering again how we found ourselves in this position, feeling like we had opened up some new chapter in our relationship, excited to find out what this meant.

It was an interesting and unexpected start to our trip to say the least, and as it turned out it wouldn’t be our only encounter with the Browns that weekend…

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/plntiy/the_browns_mmff_exhibitionist_oral_swing