Swinging

Before you get all excited NO!…not that. Never going to happen. Ever.

You should know by now my fondness for quirky post titles full of double entendre and innuendo. So now that we have that cleared up I hope you are not disappointed. Here, sit down while I tell you a tale of lust, perversion and why the D in BDSM is the most powerful letter. That should appease you pouting perverts.

Our story begins (your imagination grows hazy and unfocused like the segue to the dream sequence in a movie) as we find our heroic couple Scot and Leigh spending a hazy, lazy Sunday afternoon working in their yard…

It’s a nice yard, about two acres worth. The landscaping, ripe with perennials like hosta, lilies, 3 different varieties of wild ferns, rhododendron of all color, is finally in full force. Corn flowers and Brown Eyed Susans dance over various ground cover. Lemon thyme grows wild in a field stone wall. An explosion of flowering chives emits hues of purple and green, hinting at what recipe they may play a supporting role in. Nearby cilantro blooms amidst some mescaline mix in a raised bed.

Its one of Leigh’s passions and we have worked hard at it over the years, adding a few perennials (we do not participate in annuals) each summer. This year is possibly the best one yet. Everything looks fucking amazing, lush, just full of life.

But this Sunday is about the lawn. Leigh is on Lead Push Mower & Edger. Scot plays back-up on Riding Lawn Mower (yes, the same infamous one that Leigh used as her riding personal massager for 3 hours in the prequel to Breaking Leigh). We are yard compatible. Not every couple is. Hell, we’re even kitchen compatible!

I’ll pause for a second to allow all of you who just gasped or sighed to collect yourselves.

As I assault the side yard row by row, I notice Leigh standing with an ice cold beer under the large pine trees that divide the yard. In that she does not drink beer I smile, knowing that she is just being her awesome self by procuring a tasty 12oz break for me. I ride over to where she is, kill the mower deck and place the rider in neutral. The ale is cold and tastes so fucking good, but not nearly as delicious as the kiss I got from her. We bullshit about the yard and what remains to be done that day, discuss some dinner ideas, flirt shamelessly with each other over what the day may hold when the moon reigns supreme later that evening.

Making short work of almost all the long neck’s contents, I pull away and continue to turn wild lawn into Zen like grass. As I ride off I smile back at my baby…

…and out of nowhere an evil thought comes to mind. A deliciously naughty idea. So erotic that it makes my cock start to twitch like a coiled serpent unwinding from a long slumber.

Almost empty beer in hand I circle back and, stopping the mower deck, motion for her to c’mer with a come hither motion of my wrist.

She thinks I have something else to say, or that I just want to give her the very soon to be empty bottle. Oh, I do have something to say. But first things first. When she arrives alongside the idling mower, all smiles and soon to be sunburn, I smile back. Then, grabbing the hair on the back of her head with my left hand I kissed her so deeply, so fiercely, with so much fucking passion that upon our lips saying adieu she staggered to and fro, empty bottle in hand, the goofiest grin on her glowing face.

I laugh loudly, pulling away to cut another swath from the yard as she actually appears to be drunk, empty beer bottle and all.

With the next pass, having breathed erotic life into her with that tonsil cleaning, I do the same to my devilish plan. Once again pulling up along her giddy, grinning form, I lean over to her and, when she lowers her ear to my mouth, put my plan into action.

“Go lie down in the hammock and finger yourself to a huge, selfish orgasm…OK?” was all I said.

Her face lit up with shock, surprise, just stunned amazement at my request. Still woozy from the effects of the kiss, she looked at me with a “What the fuck?” face, searching my own for any sign of escape or weakness.

I’m not fucking around. I’m serious. I want her to go lie down in the most comfortable aspect of our yard in full view of the road that runs past our house. Then slide her velvet fingers down into that nirvana of a pussy she owns and, in full daylight, masturbate herself to a face contorting orgasm.

Seconds that feel like days pass. Our eyes dance, but I’m leading. The tension is exquisite. The humidity suddenly feels more oppressive from the electricity coursing between us.

Leigh is a cock slut and submissive beyond mortal description behind the safe confines of a closed bedroom door. We have discussed bringing our Sir and doll D/s relationship outside of it. To be blunt she’s simply not interested and truth be told I have no inclination as well to expand our dynamic any further than it is now.

But on occasion, when the mood is right, she is open to becoming my doll outside those bedroom walls.

And the sight of her snug, capri-cut jean’s ass slowly walking back to the hammock told me the mood she was in.

Game on…

Swinging Act II

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7 responses to “Swinging

  1. i sooo loved my two year relationship with a woman who was into swinging. i had never even thought about it until she brought it up. and it was wonderful. if you’d like details, find the blog of “snarky snatch” and read her guest posts called “cock chronicles.” i wrote it with a pseudonym. shhhh.

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