Swing - Episode 2

They stepped through the heavy doors like they belonged to some secret club they'd only read about. She wore black silk that slid over her hips. He watched the way the fabric clung. Neither had done this before. Not really. Not for keeps. The others moved around them already half-undressed. Perfume mixed with whiskey and the low murmur of strangers sizing each other up. A woman with a cigarette holder glanced at Kristen's mouth. A man with salt-and-pepper hair kept his eyes on Brandon's hands. Kristen touched her husband's wrist. Her pulse kicked. "You still want this?" she asked. He looked at her, then at the room. "Yeah," he said. "But only if you do." They kissed in the middle of it all—tongues meeting, teeth catching. Someone laughed softly nearby. Then a hand settled on Kristen's shoulder, warm and deliberate. She turned. A woman in red lace smiled without showing teeth. "Dance with me first," the woman said. Brandon stayed where he was, watching. His cock pressed against his slacks. He felt ridiculous and electric at once. The woman led Kristen to a velvet chaise. Silk slid down Kristen's arms. The room watched without staring. That was the trick here, he realized—everyone looked while pretending they weren't. When the woman cupped Kristen's breast through the thin bra, Brandon felt his own nipples tighten. He hadn't expected that. Hadn't expected to want to see his wife open under someone else's mouth. Kristen arched, gasped once, then again when fingers slipped between her thighs. The lace panties were already damp. The woman didn't rush. She traced slow circles until Kristen's hips lifted off the chaise. Brandon moved closer. Another couple drifted in behind him—curious, not crowding. He reached down and freed himself, stroking once, twice, just enough to ease the ache. Kristen looked over at him, lips parted, eyes glassy. She reached out. He went to her. The woman in red lace made room without leaving. Three mouths. Six hands. The night had barely begun.