Sexual Awakening at the Night of the Senses
It was billed as the “Night Of The Senses” — and so it was to prove.
Before I met C, I was not only a swinging virgin, but the only person I had ever kissed with anything more than childlike formality was my teenage sweetheart. In nine years with M, sex had quickly become the price a woman had to pay for having a close, loving relationship. I’m not saying there weren’t times when I enjoyed it, but I constantly felt under pressure to perform and as if I was there simply to stroke his macho-man ego in order to satisfy his boyish desire to be pleasured.
It was only months after separating from M and falling into bed with C, but the sex was light-years apart. Rather than it being something a man did to a woman, this was a pleasure shared, about me being worshipped and desired like a goddess, a partnership of passion. Yes, making love. Yet the geographical distance between us meant we had only had three sex-filled weekends together by the time I surprised myself by saying yes to attending a festival of sexuality down in London.
As the motorway miles sped by, my anxiety grew as I pondered what debauchery lay ahead of me. C had been upfront from the beginning about his swinging experiences with previous partners, and I shocked myself with the tingle of excitement between my legs, but it was accompanied by a churning worry deep in my stomach. Visions of unwanted advances, hairy backsides, ugly bodies, and cum flying everywhere at some seedy leather-clad club had me wincing. From the way C described “Night of the Senses,” this seemed different, yet I still couldn’t hide the nerves as I checked if I looked sexy enough in the hotel mirror.
The Festival of Sexuality
My first surprise was how busy it was. A small, inconspicuous black backstreet door led to a vast maze of rooms and passageways teeming with wandering bodies of all shapes, sizes, ages, colours and, it soon became obvious, sexualities and genders. It was like a craft fair or careers convention with a difference, each little stall or tent with a different kink or theme. In one, a black leather-clad man appeared to be choosing between being spanked in stocks or whipped on a cross by a large bearded dom. In another, a dainty woman hitched up her skirt and lowered herself onto a Sybian sex machine before the curtain was drawn. A darkroom awaited the brave or foolhardy. One tent offered intimate piercings and tattoos. Another was women only. The longest queue was for the one offering tantric massage, the gaps in its ropes and awning allowing glimpses of prone and oiled bodies in the candlelight. A slightly smaller line awaited access to the couples room, and we joined a group gathered round tears in the canvas that allowed sight of the interior.
The Couples Room
One couple was happy to simply kiss passionately in their own little world of intimacy. A woman was on the next cushion, breasts exposed, her dress draped around her partner’s hips, grinding slowly up and down, while another woman’s long hair acted like a discreet curtain as she pleasured her lover’s manhood. C remarked with disappointment that everybody was sticking to their own partners, while I wondered if the occasional warm brush of a passing body against my bum from behind was deliberate or down to the lack of space between each tent. It was all becoming too hot and claustrophobic. I needed a stiff drink, and we found the chill-out room.
As the DJ played relaxing ambient sounds and we sank into our bean bag, a mix of singles, groups, and couples chatted, danced, and embraced. We began to kiss passionately, my desire heightened by what I had already witnessed. Sensing my condition, C’s left hand began stroking slowly up and down my stockinged legs, parting my thighs. Despite the public nature of our position, I gave no resistance when he found my wetness and slipped a finger inside. Now oblivious to what was going on around us, I reached for the bulge in his PVC trousers and pulled down the zip to release his now rock-hard cock.
As we played, we became conscious that we were being watched. Another man was sitting a couple of feet away, cock in hand, obviously enjoying the scene. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said apologetically yet confidently in a posh English accent. “I am just an old London swinger who couldn’t resist admiring your beautiful wife.” “I don’t mind, do you?” said C to me. I found myself saying I didn’t mind either. Emboldened, he inched closer, knelt beside me, and said: “I don’t suppose you would like to give an old man a hand?” There are more than 20 years between C and me and, although he looks younger than his age, I obviously can’t say I am not attracted to older men. However, while this gent might have been the same age as C, he looked a lot older to me. Yet, when C said, “it’s up to you,” I suddenly found myself with a cock in each hand.
It was an amazing feeling being the centre of their attention as the stranger’s hand slipped under the top of my dress to stroke my breasts while C teased my clit. Leaving my breasts to C’s tongue, the stranger reached down and managed to slip a finger inside me. The combination of that and C’s circling of my clit soon had me gasping as an orgasm raged ‘round my body, and I trapped both their hands between my thighs as the sensation became unbearable. In my ecstasy, I had let go of the stranger’s cock, and when I re-gathered my senses and opened my eyes, he was kneeling a foot away from my face, stroking himself. When I looked up at him, he said, “that was beautiful,” reached for my hand, and placed it again on his now-throbbing erection. He shuffled slightly forward, and I instinctively licked the tip before taking it in my mouth. It felt so smooth, hard, and warm at the same time, and it wasn’t long before he started to quiver, sending a hot, salty stream of cum down my throat. The stranger offered a sincere “thank you” as we cleaned up and was soon gone, leaving me to be showered by kisses of C saying what a turn on it was to see me play with the other guy and to taste another man’s cum on my lips.
As I lay back, allowing C to slip inside me — all the while telling me how much he loved me and how much it turned him on to see me pleasure another man — his cock felt harder than I could remember it before, and he came inside me in double-quick time. While we untangled our sweat-drenched limbs, we realised that the stranger was back. “May I ask if I could I have the pleasure of fucking your beautiful wife?” he asked. Sensing my hesitancy, C said, “thanks for the offer, but we’ll decline on this occasion.” He was also secretly hoping the young threesome might ask us to join them instead, but that invitation never came. C need not have worried — there were to be other times, other places, other bodies, more handsome men, prettier women.
All thanks to that first night, my senses were truly awakened.
This story was submitted to our SDC Erotic Writing Contest:
"Our First Swinging Experience" by one of our members.
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