Grant Roberts
The Reluctant Swappers
(TNS – 0526)

Ron Fleming felt relieved as he finally began to free himself from the clutches of the artificial redhead who chattered mindlessly at him in a secluded corner of the smoky, half-lit room. He sensed the girl making one last attempt to catch his attention, as she punctuated a particularly inane remark by leaning her empty head up against his shoulder in a tipsy parody of suggestiveness, smiling up at him with a naivete as transparent as the watery drink she was holding in her hand.

Ron pivoted expertly, caught her free arm in his, and maneuvered her effortlessly to a small sofa, where he'd spotted a small, quiet, mousy man sitting silently alone with a glass of untasted ginger ale clasped tightly in both hands Ron hurried through an informal introduction, not knowing either of their names, and then turned back to the party leaving them already engrossed in a vigorous smiling, one-sided conversation.

Moving his tall, handsomely built body through the strident jumble of cocktail conversation, Ron made his way once more to the bar, stopping along the way to pick up another odorless, tasteless cheese thing from a tray filled with unimaginative snacks. He was famished. There was nothing worse than coming to a party expecting dinner, only to find that there was none. It took a particular kind of host to invite people at 7:00 in the evening and ignore the fact that they just might possibly think the early hour indicated dinner, and Oliver Lewis was just such a host. Ron poured himself out another drink, passed a hand through his dark, styled hair, and wondered why the hell he'd come in the first place.

He spotted his wife, Sharon, through the maze of lighted cigarettes and clinking glasses, standing across the room in conversation with a short, balding man. Ron could see her forcing her smiles, and nodding her head in response to his undoubtedly boring conversation, and he smiled to himself as he wondered just what purpose this kind of party had, except to allow a group of dull people to infect their friends with the emptiness of their own lives.

He noticed that Sharon had caught him looking at her' and saw the plea to come and save her written all over her face. He smiled and waved teasingly at her, and then made his way through the crowded room to her.

As he approached, he could hear the balding man saying something about what a wonderful time he and his wife had had the year before she'd died, touring the ancient Aztec ruins of central America.

"Oh darling," said Sharon, interrupting her tormentor gratefully, "I'd like you to meet Mr…?" She turned to the short man questioningly.

"… Larsen is the name, Nils Larsen. I'm Norwegian." And he stuck out a small, pudgy hand.

"Well, I thought I saw: something of the Viking in you Mr. Larsen. I'm Ron Fleming." Ron took the preferred hand, felt it rest limply in his grip for a moment, and then restored it to its owner.

"I was just telling your lovely wife about the magnificence of some of the old, pre-Columbian American Indian civilizations, Mr. Fleming…"

"That sounds fascinating, Mr. Larsen. In fact, I've always thought there were valuable lessons to be learned from old, pre-Columbian American Indian civilizations…" Ron stumbled over the words. "… but I hope you don't mind if I spirit my wife away from you for a few moments, I've got an old friend over here she's just got to meet."

"Not at all, sir, not at all," the little man beamed. "I'm privileged to have been able to converse with the lovely lady for as long as I have."

"You're so right, Mr. Larsen," Ron said, guiding Sharon around him towards the other end of the room. "I promise we'll get back together before the evening's over. How's that?"

"Splendid, sir, splendid! I shall look forward to it!"

"Thank you Mr. Larsen, for your little lecture," Sharon tossed back over her shoulder at him.

The pudgy man said nothing, but beamed modestly, and then turned to seek the crowded room for his next victim.

"Oh God," Sharon whispered as she made her way with Ron to a far corner of the room, "Torture me, stretch me on the rack, anything but that."

"You mean Mr. Larsen?" Ron teased. "A truly fascinating man, I think.

And a Norwegian too. How exotic. You know, he's the first bald Viking I've ever met."

Sharon giggled, and passed her smoothly exposed arm around her husband's lean waist. Her long blonde hair ran with carefree abandon down her neck, stretching itself out to the small of her sensuous, voluptuously formed back. She was a full head shorter than her husband, and as they crossed the crowded room, looked like a college cheerleader out on a date with the football team's star end. Her youthfully alive body belied her 28 years, and with her husband they made an exciting, beautifully exuberant couple. They loved each other with the same delightful abandon that had marked their earlier dating years, and it contrasted sharply with the tired, dull faces of the other couples at the party.

Just then, one of the couples they'd been introduced to at the beginning of the evening, Dick and Myra Green, made their way over to them. Dick Green was of medium height, and fairly heavy set, but had the build of a former athlete who still managed to keep in shape. He had dark, intelligent eyes, and a broad, friendly, contagious smile that complemented his easy-going manner. He was carrying a half-finished glass of beer in one hand. His wife, Myra, was tall and lithe with raven black hair and a pair of luminescent, green eyes. She wore a tightly clinging red dress which hugged and caressed her slender, high-breasted body, and accentuated the easy, sensual sway of her tightly mooned buttocks. As they approached, Ron's mind immediately and unconsciously pictured her as the archetypal seething seductress, the kind of woman who, at one time or another, manages to occupy the dreams of every man.

"Hello there, Fleming," Dick Green said heartily as they came up.

"Rotten party isn't it?"

"Do you want the truth?" Ron answered, returning Dick's smile.

"The whole truth, but keep it clean."

"Well, it's not only rotten, it's tortuous."

Dick laughed aloud, and hugged his beautiful wife closer to him, gazing at the same time at Sharon Fleming's curvaceous body with unabashed admiration.

"Myra was just saying mat if this disaster was any duller, we'd have to send out for the morticians." He laughed with infectious amusement.

"Well, I wish we could send out for the caterers," Sharon moaned. "We thought it was for dinner, and we're about to starve to death."

"Oh no, that's too much," Myra Green said in a low, almost breathy voice, "Not you too!"

Ron and Sharon looked at each other in surprise.

"You mean you two thought…" Ron asked.

"Of course!" Myra laughed. "Who gives a party at 7:00 without food.

We've been hovering like vultures over the snack bar just trying to keep our stomachs from turning inside out. I don't think I ever want to see another… whatever they are, those awful cheese cracker olive things …"

"Well, at least they're better than the green pepper cream cheese things!" Dick laughed out loud. And the four of them began to giggle uncontrollably with their private joke, trying to suppress their mirth unsuccessfully until a few other couples around them began staring and wondering what was so funny.

"Shhhh…" Sharon managed through the tears that were forming in her eyes, "People are looking."

"What the hell, honey' they're probably as hungry as we are," Ron whispered, and they all convulsed again.

Finally they quieted down, and after talking awhile longer, agreed to leave the party and go together to find something to still the growlings in their stomachs. It was only nine, but they could always say they were coming back. They agreed to meet out by their cars, and separately made their way across the room to find their host. Ron and Sharon carefully avoided one corner where the bald Viking was entertaining some particularly ugly wallflowers with a description of Scandinavia as it must have been in the time of Eric the Red. The host was found, Ron and Sharon thanked him warmly for the wonderful party, and then fled gratefully out into the cool summer night. They waited for a few moments, until Dick and Myra Green joined them and then, giggling again, piled into their cars. Ron and Sharon followed the Greens, and laughed as they pulled into the first diner they came to, a rather dirty looking greasy spoon.

"It may not look like much," yelled Dick Green as they climbed out of their cars, "but it's better than olives and cream cheese."

They made their way into the diner, which wasn't as bad inside as it had seemed outside, and ordered the deluxe $2.75 steak all around. They settled down in their booth with four tall glasses of beer, and the men loosened their ties.

"Well," Dick said raising his glass of beer, "here's a toast. Let's all drink to… the S.T.E.D.A.B.P."

They all laughed, raised their glasses high in mock salute, and drank long and hard. Sharon finished first, and turned her head to Dick.

"What's the S.T.D.P… whatever it was," she asked innocently.

"Wait a minute, let me get it again its… the… S.T.E.D.A.B.P. The Society to Eradicate Dull And Boring Parties." Dick answered and they all laughed again. The beers were quickly finished, and they ordered another round.

"Tell me Ron," Myra said, her smoldering eyes resting on him in a way that made his heart imperceptibly quicken its pace, "how did you get invited to this evening's abortion?"

"Ollie Lewis is one of my many bosses," Ron answered, putting his: arm around his wife's small waist. "I guess he just felt like being democratic."

"One of your many bosses?" Dick echoed. "What kind of work do you do, Ron?"

"Well, that's kind of hard to say," Ron chuckled. "I'm sort of a free-lance dabbler in the arts. I write a small syndicated column about artsy things in the area."

"Oh, darling, you make it sound so casual," Sharon broke in, and went on to explain, "He writes for four or five newspapers and a couple of magazines, you know, art criticism and film reviews, that kind of think.

He just got back today, as a matter of fact, from an assignment in Hollywood."

"Really?" breathed Myra. "What were you doing down there, Ron?"

"Oh, nothing much really. Martin Epstein, the film director, had an interior set he had to make look like a l9th century art gallery, and he needed some help making it look authentic, you know, so that all the paintings and sculpture and things were in keeping with the times and the tastes of the people involved. It was much duller than it sounds, though."

"Well, it doesn't sound dull at all to me," Dick said. "It sure beats working in a bank."

"Dick's vice-president of the City National Bank," Myra explained, straightening her delicious, high-breasted body proudly.

"One of many vice-presidents," Dick added. "It's even duller than it sounds."

"Well, I don't think it sounds dull at all," Sharon interjected. "Just think of working with all that money!" They all laughed.

"Myra's something of an artist herself," Dick said.

"Oh, really? What kind of work do you do?" Ron asked her.

"Mainly oils," the dark-eyed woman answered. "But it's all strictly amateur. I don't really have much confidence in it."

"Well, you should," her husband asserted. "I think it's fine stuff, and she just goes around all the time bad-mouthing it. You ought to get Ron out to see it sometime, dear, I'm sure he'd be able to convince you it's pretty damn good." Ron and Sharon didn't catch the look that passed between the Greens.

Their steaks arrived, and all four of them looked doubtfully at the dry, tough slices of meat. Ron asked for ketchup, and they began to bravely attack the leather-like slabs.

"I think it's fighting back," Dick chuckled as his knife finally managed to saw through his steak, and they all laughed.

After they'd finished, and paid their bill, they went outside into the freshness of the summer night, and stood by their parked cars saying goodnight.

"Well, I guess even the party was worth the chance to meet you folks,"

Dick said, again smiling his personal, contagious smile.

"We feel the same way," Sharon answered, "Don't we, dear?"

Ron nodded his head, and turned to smile warmly at Dick's seductive wife.

"We'll have to get together again sometime," he said, "maybe under slightly more convivial circumstances."

"That's a deal," Myra smiled invitingly. "Maybe I can talk you into coming over sometime and taking a look at some of my little scribblings, I mean my paintings."

"I'd love to," Dick smiled at her, "Why don't you call me sometime and arrange it."

"All right, but that's a promise. No backing out. And you've got to promise to say nice things."

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

They all laughed once more, said goodnight, and climbed into their cars.

With a final wave, Dick and Myra sped out of the parking lot, and disappeared down the unlighted street.

Ron turned to his wife, and kissed her warmly. "I like the Greens.

They're good people."

"Mmmm, I think so too. But you're nicer."

"And you're a little tipsy."

"Well," Sharon smiled into his face, "You're not mister cold sober yourself."

Now that she mentioned it, Ron did feel quite high from all the party drinks and the three beers they'd had with dinner. He turned to his wife and caressed her suggestively around the smoothly rounded mound of her breasts.

"I guess I'm not. What do you say we go on home and fall into a nice warm bed, mmmm?"

"I bet that's been on your mind all evening," Sharon chided, almost properly.

"After a week by myself in Hollywood," Ron grinned, "You bet it has."

"Oh, you're just an animal," she said softly, teasingly, but there was a light trace of reproach in her voice.

"You bet I am, honey, you bet I am!" he said fervently.

"I'm going to fuck Sharon Fleming," Dick Green said, "And you, my dear, are going to help me do it."

Myra smiled, stretching languorously on the front seat of the car, as they sped home through the darkened streets. "Of course, darling," she answered. "After all, Ron Fleming is a handsome and desirable man…

I'm going to enjoy getting laid by him just as much as you're going to enjoy fucking the lovely Mrs. Fleming."

"Goddamn, but you're the hottest woman I ever knew," Dick said with some pride. "You just love cock, don't you, baby?"

"Just like you love pussy, sweetheart."

Dick reached out and put a hand on her firmly curved thigh, just at the point where the red dress rode high on her lap. He began to stroke the feathery surface lightly. She slid over next to him and, without a word, laid the palm of her slim hand on the crotch of his slacks. His penis, already aroused from the lewd conversation, began growing even harder as he felt her light touch through his trousers.

"Mmmmmmm, little Dickie's ready, isn't he?" she said in a seductive voice.

"He's always ready," he chuckled. "Just like his wife's sweet little cunt."

"How convenient, dear. How very convenient," Myra murmured, beginning to lightly stroke his long hard cock with her palm while his hand moved higher along her smooth warm thigh. "But how do you plan to make the Flemings ready, darling? They don't strike me as swingers at all."

"No, they're not. That's what makes them such attractive prospects,"

Dick answered her. "But I've got a plan I think might work."

"What's that, dear?"

"I'll tell you when we get home."

"Oh, but sweetheart, I want to know," Myra said, and her fingers found the zipper of his fly and worked it down deftly. The throbbing length of his huge rod pushed the thin folds of his underpants out through the fly opening, straining for escape. But Myra kept it imprisoned inside, stroking the rigidly pulsing flesh with knowledgeable fingers; she knew how to torment a man in many ways: by touch, by word, by manipulation of her own voluptuously ripened body. Dick was breathing faster under her tantalizing caresses, and Myra shivered with anticipation. She could feel her impatiently twitching cunt begin to seep warm, moist fluid, soaking the thin silk of her panty briefs as she ground her smooth round buttocks down against the leather of the seat. "Tell me the plan, lover," she said softly, seductively.

"We're… ohhhh… almost home!" Dick panted. "Damn you!" Her expertly moving hand was rubbing in little circles over his heatedly straining cock now, using the material of his underpants to taunt and rub the blood-engorged glans into near-explosion. His own hand went higher along her sleek inner thigh, and his fingers found the warm dampness of her panties. He wormed his outstretched middle finger inside the elastic leg band, dipping the fingertip into the slippery juices of her hotly throbbing vagina, causing a low, soft moan of sheer animalistic pleasure to escape her throat. '`How do you like that, you little prick-teaser?" he hissed breathlessly.

"Ohhhhh lover!"

The bank vice-president's middle finger deep into the warmly clasping pussy while his forefinger found the quivering miniature phallus of her aroused little clitoris; he began thrusting and caressing with provocative slowness back and forth until she was grinding her hips faster and faster down against the seat, her loins hungrily surging upward against his fingers as if trying to beckon both of them deep inside her heatedly palpitating vaginal cavity. "You'll wait until we get home, won't you, baby?" Dick whispered.

"Aaaaaggghhh, hhmmmmmmmm!" she groaned. "Yesssss, I'll waitttttttttt!

But drive fast-teeeeeer!"

Dick grinned triumphantly, eased his finger away from her warmly perfumed cunt, and let his hand rest on her gently trembling thigh. She allowed her fingers to remain on his still-hardened cock, but they weren't moving now; her eyes were closed as she leaned against him, letting the exotically exciting sensations his probing finger had caused ripple deliciously through her entire body.

It wasn't long before the headlights of their car picked out their rambling ranch style home from the other luxurious houses along Oro Canyon Road. Dick pulled the car up in front of the double front doors, cut the engine, and shut off the lights. He got out of the car, managed to close his fly over the still pulsating hugeness of his erect penis, and walked stiffly around the car to help his wife out.

"How about a little drink, baby?"

"You're on," Myra winked up at him, and eased her lushly seductive body out of the car. "And then you'll tell me how we're going to get the Flemings to pay ball, right?"

"I might, baby, if you're nice to me."

Myra closed the car door behind her, and brazenly pressed her full ripe breasts up against her husband.

"Aren't I always nice to you, sweetheart?"

Dick smiled, and ran his lips teasingly over his wife's partially opened mouth. Then he led her into their sprawling home and switched on the lights in the expensively furnished living room, before making his way to the impressive, well-stocked bar at one end.

"Scotch all right?" he called to her as she disappeared down the hallway to their bedroom.

"And no ice," she called back, turning on the lights in the very large, almost palatial bedroom.

Dick finished making their drinks, and followed his wife down the hall where he discovered Myra undoing the two buttons on the front of her dress. Then slowly, seductively, she used her palms and rhythmically undulated her ripe young body to slide the garment down along her body until it lay puddled at her feet. Her green eyes were heavily lidded, smoky, and she watched his face intently as she stripped. She stood there, dressed now only in brassiere and panties. Tantalizingly, like an exotic dancer practicing her art, she reached behind her and unhooked the brassiere fastenings, slowly pulling it away from her firm white breasts, making sure that the aroused, berry-sized nipples were the last to meet his hot, hungry eyes. She held the brassiere out at arm's length to cup her full, fleshy mounds, kneading them as a lover would. Finally, she dropped her fingers to her panties and slowly worked them down over her long, tapering legs until she was standing before him completely naked.

"Like it, lover?" she purred throatily.

"Christ, you're like a goddamned whore when you get in the bedroom!"

Dick groaned, but he wasn't castigating her for it. Hell, he wouldn't have had it any other way. His eyes roamed over her sensual, well-tanned body, and came to rest on the fleecy down framing the wet, pink folds of her cunt. She was something else, all right; in all the time they had been married, he had never had a woman who pleased him any more than she did – a few had come close, but none had ever surpassed her. And that was one hell of a compliment, considering the number of women Dick Green had had in that time.

Myra reveled in his lustful gaze for a long moment, then she stepped over to the king-sized, double bed and lay down on the satin spread, spreading her legs wide in a wanton invitation, exposing the naked, wetly palpitating opening of her cuntal passage. She rotated her hips lewdly against the satin spread, arching them up and lowering them again in a measured, intoxicating way. "Aren't you going to get naked, baby?" she asked in a husky voice.

"Goddamn right I am!" Dick said. Quickly, he undressed and yanked his underpants down. He stood there with his great, pulsating cock standing out from his groin, the unseeing eye in the glans oozing thin, clear droplets of arousal. Myra stared hungrily at it, moistening her wetly parted lips with her tongue as if already tasting the seeping fluid in the warm sucking caverns of her mouth.

"Come on," she urged. "Lie down beside mommy."

"And what's mommy going to do then?"

"Mommy's going to take that big lovely old cock of yours and suck every last little drop of hot cum right out of it," Myra whispered lewdly up at him.

Damn! Dick thought. She really knows how to get a guy heated up, talking that way, using words like she used her body, fucking you verbally if such a thing were possible. His rigidly thick cock quivered and throbbed in anticipation. But first, he owed her a little teasing for what she had done to him in the car on the way home, before he took her up on her offer to blow him. He sat on the edge of the bed, next to her, close enough to allow her hand to snake out and encircle his eagerly jerking penis. She immediately began to stroke and massage the turgid length, rubbing the skin back and forth, before slipping her hand underneath to cup and caress his sperm-laden balls, cradling their heavy softness in her palm.

He stifled a small groan of pleasure, and then reached down and removed her hand. "First things first," he said.

"What do you mean, lover?"

"You wanted to hear my plan, didn't you?"

"Oh, daddy! Tell me afterwards!"

"No, I'm going to tell you now. You were anxious enough to hear about it earlier."

She returned her hand to his massively throbbing cock and testicles, rubbing, caressing. "Please, baby," she crooned. "I'm hot now, and I want to suck you. Come on, let mommy suck you now, and then you can tell me all about your plan."

"No," Dick said, mentally laughing at being able to play it cool at a time like this. He moved down to the foot of the bed, looking up at her, watching her impatiently undulating her hips, her tongue still flicking along her lips, her eyes resting hotly on the huge, granite-hard expanse of his penis and at the wrinkled sac of his sperm-bloated balls. "Now the way I figure it, Ron Fleming is the one to work on first. He's a man, and therefore he's more susceptible than Sharon."

"So you plan to get to her through him," Myra said. She stretched out her leg full-length frowning a little petulantly, and began to stroke his naked thigh with her foot, wiggling her big toe upward to touch the rigid hot flesh of his cock until he reluctantly pushed her leg away and continued.

"That's right. Now I think we've got the answer on how to do it from what Ron promised you tonight about coming over and seeing some of your paintings."

Myra lowered her hand and began to lightly stroke her belly with her fingertips, teasing the feathery softness of her pubic mound, then trailing lower down between her legs so that she was rubbing in a slow, even tempo the warm moistness of her cuntal mouth. She teased her erect little clitoris, knowing that Dick became even more aroused from watching her. She knew that he really enjoyed watching her play with herself, and she was so hot for his hard pulsating cock now that she was pulling out all stops to get him to stop talking.

Dick opened his mouth to continue and then swallowed hard at the sight of his wife boldly finger-fucking herself, thrusting her outstretched middle finger in and out of her wetly glistening vagina with deft strokes. As she did so, she pushed her gleaming white buttocks down farther on the bed, coming nearer to him… and this time he didn't pull away! Her hand seized his wildly throbbing cock again and began to stroke it; then, before he was able to fend her off, she rose up and pressed her nakedly ripe body against his, forcing him back into a prone position across the width of the satin bedspread.

"Damn it, Myra, I'm trying to tell you about-" he began, but then he stopped as his wife began to trail her softly moist lips along the side of his neck, into the hollow of his throat, and down his hairy chest.

She nuzzled the rigid buds of his nipples, rolling her tongue back and forth across one, and then let her mouth roam down across the girth of his well-muscled belly. He groaned at the stimulations her warmly wet lips were sending through his body and thrust his hips down hard against the bed. Her fingernails scratched lightly over his eagerly beating cock now, over his testicles, reached under his naked body to probe briefly at the tightly puckered ring of his anus, and then retraced their path back to his rigidly quivering penis.

"The plan…" Dick began weakly.

"Oh, come on, baby! I know what the plan is," Myra whispered to him as she continued her expert caressing of his now fully aroused penile shaft. "Ron Fleming comes out here to look at my paintings, only we don't look at my paintings, and then you get to Sharon Fleming while we're… uhh… preoccupied with discussion of art. Right?" Her full moistened lips brushed maddeningly against the lust-swollen head of his cock as if punctuating her statement.

"Yeah," Dick breathed heavily, hardly able to keep himself from ramming his massively pulsating shaft into Myra's wickedly beckoning mouth. "But don't you want to know how I'm going to get to Sharon Fleming?"

"That's your problem, dear. I'm sure you'll think of something." And with that, Myra put an end to all conversation for the time being, as she closed her wetly ovaled lips around the turgid length of her husband's quivering cock, forcing an intense sigh of pleasure from his lips, and causing his eyes to roll behind his half closed lids. With a sudden rush, Dick's thoughts left the plans he had been busy making all evening and centered now only on the desire to empty his sperm-filled, wildly throbbing balls into the soft warm cavern of his wife's eagerly sucking mouth.