FabSwingers.com forum: A good, unprofessional relationship.

By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago

I feel the heat and the light beat my skin like a drum. Whilst I’m sitting on the softness of the cool, green blades of grass beneath.

The white light blinds me. So I pull out some sunglasses from the tote bag that’s sat beside me. After putting them on I look up at the sun, blindingly bright white against a clear blue sky. It’s now that I remembered the warmth of being inside her. And of her breath against my face as she pressed her forehead against mine when sat on top. I remember the way that her hair fell and surrounded both of our heads, like a curtain. And I slowly feel myself leaning back against my arms and gripping tightly for something to hold on to to keep me steady. But I get nothing but clumps of grass. Unlike when I was leant back in the same way, on middle of her bed and clutched for clumps of bedsheet to hold me up.

Later in the day, I sat at the bar in my favourite pub, sipping on a deliciously refreshing pint of alcohol free lucky Saint. The pub was cool, dark and pretty empty. I’d been drinking there for years. I flirted with the woman behind the bar, the owner of the establishment, because I always did. And because I was nervous about seeing Connie.

It had been years since I’d seen her- this beautiful woman that I’d lusted after for so long. My pint glass dribbled cold droplets of water on its outside which stopped against the hand which hugged the glass. My armpits dribbled droplets of sweat simultaneously. As I said, it was cool in here- so these were nerves. The cool calm collected face I caught a glimpse of in the mirror at the bar was me, even though it didn’t look like me. On the inside I felt hot. I felt as though I was melting. I was like left out ice cream.

I looked away from the door and to one of the televisions for a moment to take my mind and eyes off of the door. It wasn’t even a good game of cricket on, certainly not one I remember, but it kept my attention for a few overs. Before I heard the familiar ‘Jerome? Hi!’ And nearly fell off my stool. I also nearly fell into something else when I turned around and saw her again.

Into lust. By the way. Not love. Maybe I’ll get to that part but I’m not there yet. She still wore loose, baggy art shirts. Today’s was a pastel blue and unbuttoned halfway to reveal her white vest top underneath. Not that I was looking but it also revealed some cleavage too. She still wore loose baggy trousers that were short enough to stop above her ankle and leave it on show. And she still wore fucking Birkenstocks, that have triggered intrusive sexual thoughts in my head for years because of her. She looked exactly the same but different. Her hair was still short, it didn’t fall below her chin, but it was less blonde and more blonde and white. There were one or two more lines on her face but it still looked the same to me. She was about early fifties at this point I think. Her face was still the same round face that housed the most beautiful bright green eyes and a smile that beamed out and lit a fire in your heart! She greeted me with this smile which made me weak and also with a warm, long embrace which made me even weaker. She still smelt out of this world. And also of Thierry Mugler’s ‘Alien’. It was perfect in so many ways. She was perfect in so many ways.

The evening flew by. We spoke at length about what we met up to speak about. Some research that she was interested in doing. And we then spoke about other nice things. Our partners. Our families. Our jobs. The usual shit. But there was nothing nice about the things I was thinking about. There was nothing nice about the way thought of being upstairs in her office whilst my head was down between her legs wrapped around my neck to hold me in place, almost suffocating me. She did always make it hard for me to breathe. There was nothing nice about the way I thought about fucking her pretty, hot, wet mouth whilst holding her chin up with my hand so I could look into her bright green eyes.

There was nothing nice about the words she said to me in my thoughts either. Like when she told me to say her name. ‘Say my name, Jerome.’ - with an assertive look and an assertive tone. Or when she asked me to fuck her in all her holes with my ‘fat cock’.

‘Jerome, I want you to fuck my c*nt. and then my arse. And then I want you to finish on my face today. Please. Can you do that for me? Will you do that to me?’ - with a much softer, pleading tone. When she looked at me like that how could I say no?

At the end of the evening we hugged and said goodbye. I leaned in and kissed her lips. They tasted so familiar. She pushed me back. That felt unfamiliar. And then she told me that things had changed in the last ten years. Since she lectured me in my politics module about anarchism and some other stuff that I cared about way less than anarchism. I apologised. And I promised that I’d be professional during this research project. And I tried my best. But that overnight we did in Manchester when we went to do some interviews, when she came on to me in my hotel room, i was far from professional. I was suddenly a 22 year old again and it was happening for the first time. We did some unprofessional shit that day, man.

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By *iscoman7771000Man
over a year ago

birmingham

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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago

Hello! Hi! Got some more to add to this in a moment

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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago

I still remember those nights in Manchester. The first, filled with interviews with some truly fascinating people.

Oh Of course.

Of course this gorgeous city was home to such gorgeous people. I remember listening to the words being said to me, and responding appropriately- well even- and getting some great, insightful stuff recorded. But the whole time I was thinking about Connie.

Same shit, different day. And different city. But same shit.

Still thinking about her smile, the warmest smile, that would run across her face when she orgasmed. She was always on my mind, invading my thoughts. Interviews done- I raced back to the hotel to meet Connie to go over how it had all gone for us both. The evening was warm and I remember walking the 20 minute journey from the library that we’d used back to the hotel I’d stayed in, wearing shorts, feeling the air hug my skin like blankets. In the coolness of the hotel lobby I was reminded of the coolness that was needed in my encounters with Connie. I couldn’t help that she made me happy and giddy but I had to hide it.

Dinner was alright. We stayed on topic. She smiled and called me ‘lovely boy’ when I got carried away talking passionately about our research. I beamed back. And we stared at one another, smiling, until one of us would clear their throat and say ‘anyway..’ I remember when we were leaving. It wasn’t one of those scenes from a movie where we both reached for the bill and our hands touched

. No we split the bill 50/50. How modern of us? What I remember about when we left is the way she stood up, quickly but still elegantly, pushed her short blonde/whiteish hair behind her ear and gorgeous silver hoop earring and looked down at me still sat there as if to say ‘come on!

’. I rose, like baptised man, quickly and followed her.

The lift journey was weirdly quiet. It was short, we were only going to floor 5, but it felt like an age. But it couldn’t have been a long silence because in just that 30 second, a minute long maximum, journey she had turned to face me, arms behind her back and looked deeply into my eyes. And I fucking kissed her. Obviously. But she didn’t push me away like last time, this time she groaned softly and delicately placed her right hand on my neck and pulled me deeper into her. It was me that pulled away, as the lift stopped and the doors opened. She glided in front of me along the corridors, all the way to her room. And in a weird out of body state, I followed her, past my own, to hers. Our eyes met just once in this time, just after we passed my room, when she turned fully to face me, now walking backwards, and smiled suggestively.

When we got into her room, it was dimly lit only by those romantic bedside wall lamps they have in hotels these days. I couldn’t chase her anymore, I had to have her. So I took her. I reached out for her arm and ran my fingers softly along it and she spun around like a ballerina. We kissed passionately. We moaned soft moans whilst we did. Her purse which she carried in one hand dropped and we didn’t even stop for a second. I walked into her towards the bed and lay her down and slid my way between her legs and held myself up looking down into her eyes. I kissed her lips. And then her neck. And rolled my tongue along her flesh as she whispered ‘ffffuck’ gently. As I slowly undressed her and exposed her gorgeous flesh, I felt her look nervously up at me before reaching for my belt and desperately trying to unfasten it. Eventually she managed. Women always struggle with it but are too proud to admit they need your assistance. It’s not sexy. Once the belt was undone she began to position herself in front of me into a more comfortable position on her back. She arched and spread her legs, showing me all of herself. I stood back up and began to get naked.

‘Fuck. Get here!’ She ordered. And so I returned, but not to fuck her, but to taste her. The surprise of it was felt in the gasp that came next. And the profanities. As my tongue gently caressed her, she moaned, and wriggled and writhed. She wrapped her legs around my neck like a wrestler, she pushed my head deeper into her c*nt and ordered me not to stop. She felt warm when she touched me. When she gripped my arms which were touching various parts of her body, she squeezed and scratched and left marks in my flesh. When she came and it was too sensitive for me to carry on, she pulled me up and tasted herself on my lips. My beard, wet from spillage of my victory champagne, glistened in the romantic lighting. She wiped my face and pushed me off her.

On my knees now, between her legs, cock throbbing like a dog’s tail, with excitement, I reached for a condom from my shorts pockets. I carefully ripped the packet open and then dropped it as I steadied myself with my hands. She laughed evilly with her mouth full of my cock. There she was, on all fours, resting on her elbows, cupping my balls with one hand, holding onto my torso with the other, looking up at me with a mouth full of cock. God she was fucking beautiful. I pulled her hair from her face so I could see her better and we locked eyes. I smiled before leaning over and slapping her arse. It wobbled. I was so bloody horny- my cock twitched in her mouth as she gobbled me up, taking me as deep as she could. She drooled as she pulled back for air and began stroking me. It was time. I reached for the condom and rolled it from the head of my cock as far as it would go. She looked at me, impressed, Aroused even and rested her head against the sheets in between her forearms which held her up. Her face in the sheets, her arse in the air, I walked slowly around the bed and stood behind her. I gently spanked her bottom and got onto the bed, between her spread legs, stroked the arch of her back and slowly entered her. It was hot inside her. It was hot in the room. The first deep breath as she felt me inside her again for the first time was hot. I slowly worked a rhythm as we both moaned passionately.

‘This isn’t very professional of us, Connie’ I said between strokes.

Her response was muffled and was followed by muffled screams from her orgasm, toes curling and sheet gripping.

…

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