“If you don’t like it we don’t have to see them again,” my husband insisted for the umpteenth time.
We were lying in bed after a pleasant but somewhat unsatisfying Sunday evening lovemaking session.
“We’re doing well but we can’t take it for granted,” he continued. “You said yourself that you were ready to try something a bit edgier, didn’t you? You agreed we could do with a breath of fresh air in our sex life, didn’t you?”
“I suppose so,” I replied uncertainly.
“Right! So let’s just try it once and see how it goes,” Paul cajoled.
It was the weekend before the events of this story took place and I was lying in the semi darkness of our marital bedroom frowning. At forty, I was a year younger than Paul, my good-looking husband and the father of our two young children who had just rolled off my leaking body and was lying alongside me on the rumpled sheet.
“We mustn’t lose the momentum, must we?” he continued, kissing me on the cheek and beginning to stroke my tummy. “Having come so far, we don’t want to slip back to the boring, stale days, do we?”
I sighed resignedly.
“I’ve said I’ll try it and I meant it. Just don’t expect me to be as enthusiastic as you; it’s your fantasy after all, not mine. And I’m not promising to do anything with them, okay?”
“Great,” my husband smirked as he lay back and turned off the bedside light. “You’ll love it, Pam. I know it!”
***
Paul and I had been together for nearly twenty years and had been married for fifteen of them. In our early years together when I had been much more daring, our sex life had been wild, imaginative and very frequent. For several years we had experimented with positons, locations and even a few pleasurable perversions but as the kids had arrived and began to dominate my life; as I had become more tired and my figure had lost its youthful, gym-toned shape, my adventurous spirit had gradually reduced too.
Eventually, like so many married couples, we had settled into a boring, unadventurous routine that satisfied neither of us and had consequently lost most of its appeal.
As the frequency and intensity of our lovemaking slowed, Paul seemend to take up every form of manly pastime imaginable; DIY, car maintenance, team sports, going to football matches and lots of late night working, all of which were activities he did without me.
As a result, I began to feel that he had lost interest in me, that he no longer found me interesting or attractive. This brought our unreliable sex life to a complete halt. I felt unloved and unwanted by my husband; he felt sexually abandoned by me.
It was a recipe for disaster and soon started to interfere with our relationship. Now of course I know that most couples go through something like this at some time but at the time it felt as if my world was ending. There were long silences, occasional rows and jealousies on both sides until, after a particularly bitter and spiteful row – fortunately not in front of the children – during which he called me a frigid bitch and I accused him of having an affair with a colleague from work, we decided to take the advice contained in so many of my women’s magazines and had visited a relationship counsellor for help.
I have to say, the woman was a genius; by the end of the very first session she had expressed the problem in two sentences.
‘Men need to have sex to feel loved. Women need to feel loved to have sex’.
According to the counsellor, by rejecting Paul sexually I was making him feel less than a man. Many men in the same circumstances might look to other women to help him recover some of thier confidence. Paul assured me he had not yet done this and I believed him; instead he had subconsciously been driven to assert his masculinity in other ways, hence all the stereotypical male activities he had taken up.
In my case the counsellor believed my loss of libido had probably started with a strong dissatisfaction with my own body post-childbirth. Because I felt unattractive, I couldn’t believe anyone else found me desirable or interesting.
Reinforcing this, I had perceived Paul’s increased interest in ‘manly’ things as a lack of interest in me. I had even suspected his late night working might be a cover story for an affair which had reduced my interest in sex still further.
In addition, she believed I had coped with the new responsibility of children by letting the control freak side of my nature take over. As a result, I couldn’t do anything that invovled letting myself go or losing control in any way; something our sex life had once involved in spadefuls.
The more Paul wanted me to let go, the less likely I was to do it. The less I did it, the more he wanted me to. A vicious circle; painfully predictable!
The bad news was that, although we both still loved each other, we had reached a point where our dysfunctional sex life represented a serious threat to our marriage.
The good news was that we had previously been highly compatible in bed and highly sexually active. What was more, so far neither of us had actually been unfaithful and we had sought help in time to do something about it.
If we re-kindled our sex life, Paul would feel more loved and would want to spend more time with me; I would feel more attractive and want to spend more time with him. We could turn our vicious circle into a virtuous one – if we did it right.
The counsellor had gone on to suggest a number of intimate activities that might help and, with some reluctance on my part we had started to give them a try.
With two nearly-teenage kids in the house it had been hard making space in our busy lives for each other but with a little time-management help from the Counsellor and a lot of childcare from my parents we managed to set aside at least two sessions each week to try and rescue our sex lives and our relationship.
It had been very awkward at first but it had started to work!
Over a few months and after a slow start, we tried everything the Counsellor suggested; every type of sexy underwear imaginable (made me feel really sexy too); doggy-style sex (okay but a bit undignified and animal-like for me); cunniligus (a very nice feeling indeed but felt ‘dirty’ and made me very conscious of what childbirth had done to me ‘down there’) and sex toys (a bit cold and calculating but worked exceptionally well on my body if not on my mind).
Some ideas had failed miserably. Even half-drunk I could not bring myself to suck my husband’s cock until he came no matter how much he tried to persuade me. In the past I used to suck him off every time I had a period but now the mere thought of having semen in my mouth again made me feel sick.
However good it made my husband feel and however well my body responded when I did it, fellatio made me feel like a whore.
But these setbacks were minor; as the adventurous spirit of our love life returned, both of us could feel the passion coming back into our marriage and our love for each other remained as strong as ever. So with the counsellor’s continued encouragement we persevered until eventually we found a hard-core group of sexual activities that had a really positive effect both on my libido and on Paul’s.
There was no doubt at all what turned my husband of fifteen years on most. However much he tried to laugh it off, it was a plain as the nose on my face that, of all the many things we had tried, the thing that had aroused him most by far was the acting out of fantasies.
Fantasies and role play were ideas our counsellor had recommended most and I must confess, they had worked well for both of us. If I’m really honest, the effect they had on me was powerful, especially when combined with my own favourite preference.
Sometimes we would simply tell each other our secret desires. Other times we would pretend to be other people, acting out our roles in bed. On a handful of occasions we pretended to be strangers meeting in a bar or hotel for the first time, talking to each other about our spouses as if they were somewhere else.
Twice we booked a room in the hotel and continued the fantasy throughout the night, fucking each other with a passion that recalled our first weeks together, calling each other by our made-up names right through the night.
I loved these little dramas but the excitement they engendered in my husband was truly profound. It was also a little disturbing, especially as the fantasies that turned him on most were always swinging or wife-swapping. Indeed, within a short time, Paul’s swinging fantasies had come to dominate our sex life. And the more swinging fantasies we played out, the more arousing we both found them. And the more we were both aroused, the more vivid and realistic they became.
So we had found what turned Paul on most. What about me?
I’m sure a psychologist could explain but the truth caught me entirely by surprise. There was no way I would tell even the counsellor this but the things that had worked best for me all involved pain. It had been a shock to discover but there was no denying the fact that I loved pain, Well, at least I loved being hurt by someone I knew would never hurt me.
And if we could find a scenario that put both Paul’s love of fantasies with my love of pain, so much the better!
How did we find this out? Well, like so many things it began by accident. Paul and I had been having a row in our bedroom; it had been silly and trivial even for us but neither of us was going to back down and aplologise. I had decided to end the row by flouncing off downstairs and had just delivered what I had intended to be my killer exit line about his recent sexual performance before walking out of the bedroom and slamming the door.
Paul however had had other ideas. To this day he can’t explain what possessed him but before I could reach the bedroom door, he had grabbed me, slung me over his knee, pulled up my skirt, pulled down my knickers and had delivered a dozen loud firm spanks to my bottom with the flat of his hand.
It had taken barely half a dozen of those strokes on my bare buttocks before I knew we had hit the spot! The effect on my arousal was immediate and incredible; by the time he had delivered the last slap I was almost in heat! As soon as he released me I flew at him, practically tearing off my husband’s clothes, throwing him to the bedroom floor and mounting him as he lay there.
The orgasm that followed had been simply world class.
The genie was now well and truly out of the bottle. From that night onwards we began to experiment; pulling my hair, smacking my bottom with a paddle or, best of all, pinching my nipples. All these made me feel highly aroused but set me on a circle of arousal:
The greater the pain, the greater the arousal I felt.
The greater my arousal, the more intense and immediate the climax that would follow.
The more intense the climax I enjoyed, the more I desired one even more intense.
The more I desired a climax, the greater the pain I could tolerate.
I began to believe that all I needed to reach the ultimate climax was a little more pain; a little harder spanking, a little firmer nip or bite on my nipples; a little more discomfort between my legs.
I had even started to have erotic dreams about it; having my nipples bitten; perhaps even having my vulva whipped but I kept them very much to myself, reluctant to tell even my husband the whole truth for fear of appearing a slut.
And so my libido returned, as strong as it ever had been. In response, my husband’s soared too and for a good many months our sex life blossomed. We had come close to being discovered ‘in flagrante delicto’ by our kids more than once but this had simply added to the thrill.
But an intensity this strong couldn’t last foerever. As with other things in life, we quickly found out that novelty is very transient and breeds a powerful need for constant refreshment.
Just as my own desire for minor pain had grown more and more extreme, it wasn’t long before even our wife swapping fantasies had become a bit routine and Paul at least felt we needed to push the boundaries further.
We varied the scenarios by pretending to be other people – policemen, doctors, builders, our friends, celebrities – even big black men with huge cocks. We tried role-playing scenarios in bars or hotel lounges which gave me a big thrill and worked well for a while but it soon became obvious that even this wasn’t satisfying my husband anymore.
I should have spotted it sooner; I should have realised what was going to enter his mind next but of course I was too slow to head off the idea before it was too late.
So, a few months later and with a crushing inevitability I should have foreseen, one Sunday evening when we were in bed, my loving husband hesitatingly suggested that we should act out one of our fantasies for real.
Paul wanted us to try swinging in real life.
I was recovering from a rather intense orgasm at the time so wasn’t thinking clearly. At first I had thought it was just the fantasy game he was still playing but he had persisted until I eventually realised that he was very serious.
My husband of fifteen years and the father of my children really did want to swap me for another woman.
Okay, it would only be for an evening! Okay, I would get another man in return but even so, it was a very big thing for a previously faithful wife to contemplate, even if her mind was still in a post-orgasmic fuddle.
It says something about the power of those fantasies that I contemplated it at all.
It says more about my husband’s powers of persuasion that, after three full months of relentless covert and overt persuasion I had reluctantly agreed we should find out a bit more about it.
It says even more about my own weakness that, a few weeks later and after hours of exploration on the internet, I had reluctantly agreed to meet a couple he had found through an online swinging site ‘just to see if we get on and learn a bit more about the whole scene’.
I had made it clear that I did not intend to do anything when we met, that it was just a fact-finding mission and that my knickers would be staying firmly in place. But the delight on my husband’s face had been disturbing so it will be no surprise at all to learn that, with only a few days to go before we were due to meet our potential temporary lovers, I was getting cold feet.
My husband was apparently having no such second thoughts and had become used to providing constant reassurance as our conversation that Sunday evening – the last before our proposed ‘date’ – was clearly demonstrating.
***
“Tell me about them again,” I asked, staring at the bedroom ceiling, not daring to look at my husband but hoping that his words would give me at least some of the reassurance I needed.
“Like I told you, they’re a really nice couple. I contacted them through one of the swinging clubs I found on the net. They know it’s our first time; the woman in the club couldn’t have been friendlier or more understanding. They sounded really nice, Pam.”
“I’m still not sure,” I mumbled. “What else do you know?”
Paul sighed.
“As I told you last week and the week before, they’re from London but they have a chalet on the coast in a really upmarket resort. She told me they often meet special friends there.”
He rose on his elbow to look into my eyes.
“It’s only an hour’s drive away, Pam. We’re only going to meet them for dinner; you don’t have to sleep with him if you don’t want to, I promise. If you say no, it’s no! But you might not want to say ‘no’ when we meet them. What have you got to lose?”
I could think of a lot of things we could lose if things went wrong; trust, fidelity, innocence, our marriage, possibly our relationship with our children too if things went really badly wrong but I didn’t say anything.
“Remember, it’s only sex anyway,” he added in what he obviously thought was a powerful argument in his favour. “Even if we do go to bed with them it’ll only be for the one night. It’s not like either of us will be starting an affair. It won’t threaten our relationship.”
I knew full well that my husband had no idea whether this was the truth.
And he knew full well that I knew.
But I didn’t argue. In truth, Paul’s idea had not revolted me anything like as much as I let him believe. Those wife swapping fantasies had to a large extent worked their magic on me too but my fantasies weren’t the wild orgies and multiple partner evenings that dominated my husband’s imagination. No, my big fantasy was to have a single, sensitive lover who would pay as much attention to my needs as Paul usually paid to his own.
And if that single, sensitive lover was blessed with a very large cock too, then so much the better!
For this reason, though by no means as convinced as my husband, I had let him think that his persistence had gradually worn down my resistance. The look of disbelief and delight on Paul’s face when I finally agreed had been almost comical.
Now the evening was actually in sight, although I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was looking forward to it, at least I no longer felt completely horrified. But when it came to the crunch, whether I would have the nerve to turn my biggest fantasy into reality and actually go to bed with a stranger was another thing entirely so I was keeping my options very much open.
Sensing my continued uncertainty, Paul had kept his persuasive conversation going throughout the week.
“He’s really good looking; you’ve seen the pictures. His wife says he’s very well endowed,” my husband continued, looking so deeply into my eyes that I felt embarrassed.
Although Paul’s familiar tool was by no means small, huge cocks had been a feature common to both our fantasies.
“I suppose she’s very well endowed too?” I asked cynically, my hands covering my microscopic boobs.
“She has got very big breasts, yes,” he confessed. “But she’s not as tall or as slim as you,” he added hastily.
I sighed. Paul had always liked big boobs. My own were so small I didn’t really need a bra, even after feeding two kids. They were almost invisible when I raised my arms. Even when breast feeding, I had only worn a maternity bra to stop leaks coming through my clothes. As a young woman I had often thought about having them surgically enhanced but it hadn’t seemed to matter to Paul as much then as it apparently did now.
“And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. He’s promised to make the night just for you; what you want, you will get.
I sighed, wondering how many other wives up and down the country were being asked by their husbands to have sex with strange men so that they could sleep with other women.
“Well, I suppose if I can back out if I want…” I eventually said.
“You mean it? You’ll still do it?”
Paul could hardly believe his luck.
“I mean I’ll go for dinner with them,” I said insistently.
“Pam, that’s wonderful…”
“BUT!” I interrupted sharply. “I’m not saying I’ll do anything more, understood?”
“Of course! I understand completely. It’s your choice!”
He fell back on his pillow smiling like the cat that got the cream. A few minutes later he was asleep.
“There, I’d promised. There was no getting out if it now, girl!”
I lay awake half the night wondering what on earth I had let myself in for.
***
So it was that the following Saturday night I was sitting nervously on the edge of a large double bed in the main bedroom of an over-heated chalet feeling very uncomfortable in every way and wondering how I had let things get so far so quickly.
My knees and thighs, ludicrously exposed by the excessively short skirt my husband had insisted I wore, were pressed tightly together. My fingers were fidgeting anxiously in my lap. My chest and shoulders, barely concealed by the tight-fitting sleeveless top also chosen by my husband, were slumped with lack of confidence. My dark brown head with its long hair was lowered.
Beside me sat James, the man I had met only a few hours ago but who, if everything went to plan, was about to become my first ever extra-marital lover.
If everything went to plan.
To be fair, it had all gone very well so far, ever since my parents had come round to babysit the kids and stay overnight so we needn’t worry about the time.
I had spent well over an hour getting ready. At Paul’s insistence I had dressed sexily just in case I decided we should go to bed with our new friends so had worn my very best white silk lingerie, a sleeveless white designer top and a red pleated skirt so short that it would have been embarrassing on a teenager even without the four inch black patent heels on my feet.
My long dark brown hair had been allowed to curl and I had used rather more make-up than usual. I looked as sexy as I could look but was very conscious of being a forty-year old housewife and mother of two.
I hoped it would be sexy enough. At least my husband seemed very happy with the effect.
The journey to the rather impressive resort had been fast and smooth. Paul had driven carefully, his eyes flashing repeatedly to his left to look at my overly-exposed bare legs. He looked very good himself in an open necked shirt, chinos and brown leather ankle boots so I was feeling as confident as I could feel when we entered the resort’s high class restaurant to meet our ‘dates’ for the evening.
Dinner in the restaurant had been excellent. I had enjoyed the meal despite my nerves, partly helped by three large glasses of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and in the relaxed atmosphere I had been able to consider our potential partners.
A full ten years older than us, our new friends were as good looking in real life as their pictures suggested but on top of that were relaxed, easy company. The conversation had been wide-ranging and flowed as if we were all there for normal, perfectly innocent reasons. I had to keep reminding myself that our objectives were anything but innocent but still I had definitely started to relax.
From all I learned over dinner, my intended partner for the evening was everything a first lover should be. Dressed in slim fitting jeans and a designer shirt, James was tall, dark, handsome, caring, charming and, his wife frequently assured me quietly, very well-endowed indeed.
The pressures of being a Senior Partner in a successful London legal practice made frequent de-stressing breaks to the coast a necessity, but also provided the funds to make such trips possible. They had bought the chalet three years before as a get-away and a private place to meet their special friends, like they hoped we would soon be.
I have to confess that I found him very attractive both physically and intellectually.
Nicky, his wife was as unlike me as you could imagine. At least six inches shorter, dyed blonde and with a body considerably curvier than my skinny frame she gave the impression of being something of a bimbo until you heard the educated accent in which she spoke and the bright sophistication of her conversation.
As predicted, she had simply enormous boobs which she assured me were natural but which were barely contained by her tight-fitting, low-cut dress. Paul seemed to direct most of his conversation to her breasts throughout the evening; something that did not go un-noticed by her husband or by me.
The contrast between her sexy body and her bright intellect was so extraordinary that I suspected she had adopted the bimbo look especially for our benefit or perhaps as an alter-ego personality she affected for ‘wife swapping’ evenings.
Over dinner we learned that the two of them had started swinging almost by accident ten years earlier when, after a late evening with friends in which too much alcohol had been consumed, they had all been too drunk to drive and had been obliged to stay the night.
During that night the two husbands had somehow managed to ‘stray’ into the wrong bedrooms – apparently truly by accident at first – but a night of energetic, illicit sex had followed in both beds.
The following morning had been difficult and embarrassing but once the first recriminations were over, they had both confessed that they had really enjoyed the experience and, as long as it represented no risk to their marriage, would both like to try it again.
After considerable online research they had nervously visited a swinging club and enjoyed their first evening there. Further visits had followed along with weekends away involving clubs in other parts of the country.
Discretion was always the most important aspect of anything they did. This helped reassure me further and when added to the uncharacteristically large amount of wine I had drunk, ensured that I put up only token resistance when James had suggested we adjourned to their chalet after dinner ‘to relax’.
The look of delight on my husband’s face was both heart-warming and disturbing but initially I felt quite confident when James took my hand as we walked across the car park and down the long, low-lit path to their secluded chalet. Paul and Nicky were walking ahead, arm in arm as friends might but there was a definite sexual element to their body language.
The lounge was candle-lit when we entered and a bottle of champagne stood in a cooler on the table. James poured four glasses and passed them round.
“New friends!” he proposed as a toast.
Already feeling a little tipsy, I barely sipped mine but it was soon clear that this toast was intended to be a signal that we should all retire to the bedrooms.
Paul took the hint instantly. Nicky took his offered hand and led him to the door furthest from where we were standing. They were giggling and tickling each other as they crossed the room but before the door closed behind them, my husband looked back at me.
“Are you okay?” he mouthed silently.
I gulped, my tummy alive with butterflies then nodded slowly.
“Good luck!” he mouthed in reply then turned towards the open door and the curvy blonde waiting within.
“I love you…” I began to mouth but he had gone.
There was a short silence then I felt James’ soft, smooth hand on my arm and his even softer, smoother voice at my ear.
“Would you care to join me Pam?”
I stared in disbelief at the closed door through which my husband had passed. It was really happening! Paul had actually left me to go and commit adultery for what I believed was the first time, leaving me to do the same.
When we next saw each other we would both have cheated.
“Pam? Are you okay?”
“Y… Yes,” I stammered.
“Just relax,” the smooth voice purred. “It’s your evening.”
Stunned, I allowed James to take my hand and lead me slowly through the nearest door and into the candle-lit glow of the large bedroom beyond.
My heart thumped; this was the bedroom in which I was to cheat on my husband for the first time; the place I was to become a fallen woman; an unfaithful wife; a swinger.
My doubts and insecurities rushed in on me.
Knowing that my husband Paul was next door with James’ flirty, sexy wife Nicky having his own, supposedly first-ever evening of infidelity should have reassured me. But it didn’t. Instead I suddenly became aware that it hadn’t been my idea to do this; that it was Paul who had wanted it and had talked me into it.
It was Paul who had convinced me that we deserved a bit of fun; that we needed the refreshment to our sex lines that only another partner would bring; that it would give us both a chance to really be ourselves, to try all those things we had only been able to fantasise about before.
It was Paul who had persuaded me that there was no reason not to open my mind – and my legs – to the alternative lifestyles we had only imagined in our fantasies before.
I kept telling myself that it wasn’t as if I wouldn’t get any pleasure from the evening, was it? After all, I was as free to let go of my inhibitions as my husband was. It was safe; they were friendly, sensitive, clean and experienced swingers; the perfect partners for first-timers like us.
I loved my husband dearly; this was what my husband wanted and had wanted for many years.
And I was brought up to believe that a good wife always gives her husband what he wants.
Well, doesn’t she?
“It’s okay to be nervous your first time, Pam,” James’ voice was soft and low, his hand lightly resting on my trembling fingers in my lap. “We’ll take it at your pace. Just tell me what you like – and if there’s anything you don’t like.”
He left the words hanging in the air. I couldn’t raise my eyes to meet his but I could tell he was studying me carefully, assessing my body as he had done over dinner.
In my insecurity, I wondered if he was comparing it to that of his wife next door, wondering whether he had got the better half of the deal. I wondered whether my own husband was assessing his new partner in the same way.
Tall for a woman and angular in build, I knew my body wasn’t every man’s idea of perfection. Although slim to the point of being bony and with the kind of skinny figure that woman claim to admire, I was very much aware that I lacked the kind of bottom most men seemed to lust over and was afraid he would find my almost total lack of boobs unattractive.
I felt insecure and anxious, especially when I remembered what kind of body he was used to. Nicky had curves in all the right places and had filled her short, dark-blue, tight-fitting sleeveless dress to perfection. Her blonde hair had been expertly styled and at little more than five feet tall, she made me feel like a giant in my high heels.
In my mind, I already felt my husband had made a better bargain than the man whose eyes were undressing me now but, I told myself, ever since we had met, James had seemed pleased with the prospect of bedding me.
I felt him settle gently on the edge of the mattress next to me and rest his hand gently on my knee. I shivered slightly.
“Relax Pam,” he whispered, his voice smooth and seductive like warm syrup. “Tonight is for you. It’s your first time; don’t worry about making me happy at all. All I want is to make you feel good, okay?”
I nodded, still unable to look him in the eye.
“That’s better,” he smiled. “Now tell me, what do you like?”
I wasn’t ready for the question and felt unable to reply. But silence wasn’t acceptable.
“I… I don’t know,” I mumbled, my voice trembling.
“Come on,” he teased, his voice still soft and reassuring. “There must be something that excites you; something that turns you on. Maybe something you’ve always wanted to try but haven’t dared ask your husband.”
I didn’t reply. I just kept wringing my hands in a childish way that made me even angrier with myself.
“I can be anything you want,” James’ soothing voice continued. “Anything at all. I can be gentle, very gentle, rough, very rough or anything in between; whatever you prefer.”
His smooth voice was working; my anxiety was beginning to moderate as he continued.
“We can spend a long time on foreplay if it’s what you enjoy, or no time at all. It’s up to you. We don’t even need to have full sex if you don’t want to.”
He sounded open and genuine. He was certainly attractive and seductive. I looked up at him, trying to decide whether I really could go through with it.
I had gone to dinner knowing that being alone with James might happen – would probably happen – but now that reality had arrived and I was in the room with a strange man, all my previous confidence seemed to have melted away.
“Do you mean that?” I eventually asked, sounding like a teenager. “You’ll only do what I’m comfortable with?”
“Of course. Tonight’s your first night; it’s all for you. I mean it. And if you want to stop at any time, you just have to say so and we’ll stop.”
“And you won’t be disappointed?”
“I didn’t say that,” he laughed in a self-deprecating way that made him seem even more attractive. “I’ll be very disappointed indeed Pam. You’re a stunningly attractive woman and I’m very much looking forward to us enjoying each other’s bodies but if you feel otherwise, I promise I will stop whenever you want.”
Again both his words and his whole demeanour were making me trust him. I began to feel more reassured. Perhaps my inexperience wouldn’t matter; perhaps I could go through with it. After all, Paul had been very serious; he had said he wanted me to enjoy myself too.
But dare I share my inner fantasies with this stranger? Or might it be easier to express them to a stranger than to my husband?
“So what’s your secret, Pam? Now’s the time to try something new; to be someone new; to try something you’ve always wanted to try but can’t or don’t want to do with your husband?”
Perhaps he was right. Perhaps if I imagined myself as someone else; a different, bolder, more adventurous Pam with more exotic tastes than the wife and mother I had been until then; perhaps then I would be able to go through with the evening’s plans after all.
“That’s what swinging is all about” he added. “Freedom! Freedom from constraint; freedom from guilt; freedom to be who you want to be.”
The idea was certainly appealing. And if my husband really wanted me to do it, perhaps it wouldn’t feel like cheating. He was certainly planning to cheat on me, I had to remember that!
But what did I want?
Then it came to me; the thing I’d often imagined but had never felt able to ask for. It might even help me overcome my hesitance; if James was the right man to play the game.
“Perhaps…” I began then stopped.
“Aha! You’ve had an idea. There is something you’d like to try,” James smiled, genuinely pleased. “Tell me!”
I looked into his handsome face, took a deep breath and replied:
“Perhaps it’s having to make a decision that’s making me anxious. Perhaps if you… if you took control instead; if you dominated me. Perhaps if you tell me what to do; make it feel like I don’t have a choice other than to obey you; that I have to do what you want. Maybe that way I’d be able to relax.”
“And maybe you won’t feel like you’re deliberately cheating on Paul?” James asked. “If you feel guilty tomorrow you might be able to persuade yourself that you were made to do it?”
“I suppose so,” I replied truthfully.
James’ face beamed in delight.
“Well, that’s normal too Pam, believe me. We both felt the same at first. Of course I can take control, but you’ll have to be clear how much… persuasion you want,” he added a little seriously.
“I… I’m not sure,” I replied. “I don’t know… I’ve never… tried anything like it before.”
“Well,” he continued reassuringly. “Do you want to be just bossed about or would you like to try a little bondage? A little pain too perhaps? It’s your night. Just tell me what you want.”
My voice was trembling so much that I could barely hear myself. Paul and I had tried bondage and I had liked it; I had liked pain too – liked it a lot if truth be told; the idea of experiencing a little pain again was really arousing.
But how much did he mean by ‘a little’?
“Maybe if you… hurt me just a little bit too?”
“Okay,” he smiled. “But you’ll have to let me know what ‘a little bit’ means.”
This helped me relax too; James clearly expected me to be uncertain and nervous and was helping settle my nerves.
“Um,” I began hesitatingly. “Sometimes Paul squeezes my nipples really hard and it just sends me through the roof.”
“I can imagine,” he grinned, pleased. ”And does he hurt you in other places too?” he asked. “Or do you wish he would?”
I blushed bright pink.
“I’ve always wanted to be hurt a bit… down there,” I said, the last words almost disappearing with my embarrassment. “Sometimes when Paul’s a bit rough with his hands he pinches me down there and it hurts. That sometimes feels good too; really good.”
“Okay,” he said. “Do you feel you’d like to shout and scream too? Really let yourself go? All the chalets around us are empty; no-one will hear anything.”
“Yes,” I confessed. “I do get a bit noisy – but I don’t want to be badly hurt!” I added, embarrassed and anxious.
James smiled again.
“That won’t happen, Pam. Do you know what a ‘Safe Word’ is?”
I nodded.
“I think so.”
“Well for tonight the safe word is ‘London’. If it really gets too much, if you really want me to stop, you just say or call out that word I’ll know I’ve got to end it. Otherwise…”
I looked into his smiling face in anticipation.
“Otherwise once we start we won’t stop until it’s over.”
It was my last chance to back out. My tummy was churning with butterflies; my powerful desire to escape was fighting against even more powerful feelings of excitement, curiosity and, let’s be honest, pure lust.
Then I remembered the look on my husband’s face as he had entered the room next door with Nicky. Paul would be having no misgivings. Paul would not be leaving that room with his fidelity intact. Even if I did escape, there could be no going back to the life we had before.
Either I returned home a sad wife with a cheating husband or we returned together as a couple who loved each other but enjoyed a little swinging.
“Okay,” I said almost inaudibly.
“That’s wonderful. You won’t regret it, I promise.”
I could hear the metaphorical door to fidelity slowly but firmly closing behind me.
