Swapping Spouses

CHAPTER ONE My right hand was firmly imbedded between my compressed thighs. My cunt was on fire. Still not fully awake, I felt like I was a witness to my own agony, watching and listening to myself writhe and moan. Going to bed at night was no longer rest, it was more like putting myself through a wringer. By morning I would be exhausted. These dreams I'd been having lately were unbelievable. There could be no peace in my life as long as they inhabited my unconscious almost from the instant my head hit the pillow. Oh, I was having no trouble in dropping off to sleep. That was part of the problem. As a matter-of-fact, I seemed to crave sleep, as though I were trying to escape from reality. To get to the bottom of it, of course, I'd have to confront that reality. Force myself to dispassionately examine just what was so unsatisfactory about my everyday life. But I didn't want to do it. The prospect was too painful. Especially when the alternative was the fantasy-life of my dreams, exhausting as they were. And, in case you haven't guessed it, those dreams were wet. Wet, wet dreams. Almost from the moment I was asleep I was mentally visited by one well-hung stud after another. Each hard-on was bigger than the last. No man need apply for a role in one of my dreams unless his c**k was at least ten inches long. In real-life I hardly ever experienced orgasm. When my husband and I infrequently made love it was usually over before I even got warmed up. But in my dreams... ah, in my dreams, I came and came and came. My body was like a perpetual-motion machine of pleasure. In the prism of my unconscious I accepted c***s in ways that I would have never considered while I was awake. Two of them stuffed up my p***y was a regular occurrence, and another one reaming my tight asshole was normal. I'd push my t**s together and take one between them, licking its thrusting head with my flicking tongue. I willed ejaculations with a flip of my mental switch. c*m flowed like wine. When I awakened, I was always surprised to find that my body was actually drenched with sweat rather than sperm. The dream I'd just had was typical. In this one, a gang of generously endowed men, faceless as usual, had set upon me and f****d hell out of me. One had sat on my face and split my face with his monstrous tool, while another had rubbed the insides of my t**s raw with his chafing prong. Down below, I had taken at least two c***s in my cunt, and an especially long specimen to the hilt up my ass. In this dream, as in all the others, no matter how large the pricks were, or how many of them were f*****g me, my holes always widened far enough to accommodate them. If my unconscious willed it, I was easily capable of making it with an entire army as long as I was asleep. Awake, however, as I have intimated, it was an entirely different story. The only c**k available in my life belonged to Frank, my husband, and it had become increasingly useless to me over the years. When we were first married, Frank had been a tiger between the sheets, never giving me any rest in his desire to make love. Frequently he'd come home from his office and f**k me during his lunch hour, as an example of his ardency. However time has a way of letting fires burn out by themselves, and that's what happened between Frank and me. By now we had endured eighteen years of married life together, and the passionate flames we had once known in bed were cold cinders. Once in a while when the pressure built up in his balls, Frank would hop on me, but it was more like an assault than an act of love. Before my cunt had even had a chance to moisten with arousal, he had come in me and rolled over to go to sleep. I would lie there, yearning for fulfillment, the drone of his snoring filling the air. On occasion I had tried m**********g to achieve some satisfaction, but it was no use. Playing with myself made me feel so guilty that I could feel nothing but shame. Only in my dreams was I capable any more of reaching the sensual peaks for which a woman is made. Then I experienced orgasm after orgasm, each climax paving the way for an even greater one. In real life, I had gotten so that I dreaded it when my husband got the urge to f**k me. However, when I was asleep, there was no such thing as too much c**k. I decorated my naked body with them like I was putting ornaments on a Christmas tree. Speaking of reality, I had now been awake long enough so that Frank's snoring had pierced my unconsciousness. Looking over at him, I couldn't help but wonder where we had taken the wrong turn in our marriage. I noticed that he had a smile on his face. Apparently, he was dreaming too. It had never occurred to me until now that he might have a nocturnal fantasy life the same as I did. Motivated by a mixture of curiosity and jealousy, I removed my hand from my crotch and reached over and pulled back the covers. Perhaps by looking at his groin I could obtain a clue as to the nature of his night time mental excursions. I certainly hadn't expected what I now saw. My breath was taken away by the size of the hard-on that loomed from the fly of his pajamas. It was pulsing like it would burst at any moment. In wonder, I placed my fingers around his throbbing c**k. The instant I touched it I realized that my hand was still soaking with my own p***y juice, which I was now transferring to his swollen member. "Mmmmmmm," he moaned in his sleep, "your cunt is so wet. I love it when your cream gets all over my prick like this." With his d**k still in my hand, he rolled over on his back and began bucking his hips in the classic f*****g motion. In the process, his rigid tool began automatically stroking up and down in the webbing of my fingers. I felt funny m**********g him, but for some reason I couldn't let go. The more furiously he pumped, the harder I made my grip. The maddening friction I was applying was driving him wild with desire. "Oh, Jesus," he rasped, "I love f*****g you. My c**k feels so good inside you. Tell me how hard it is... how much you love it." I had the feeling that if I didn't respond he might wake up. If that happened, I didn't know how I'd explain myself. Our life in bed had become so awkward that I was totally flustered by the prospect of a real-life s****l confrontation. The only safe thing to do was keep his dream alive. As long as he was asleep we couldn't embarrass each other. "Come on," he urged me, or whoever I was supposed to be, "tell me how much you love my c**k. I want to hear it." "You have a beautiful prick, Frank," I answered. "It's so stiff and so long. I can't wait until it comes." Now that I had committed myself, I watched his pistoning boner with increasing fascination. As the crimson head shot up and down from the top of my fist, blue veins criss-crossed the shaft like miniature railroad tracks. Below, his hairy balls rolled around in his tight scrotum, churning with the manufacture of jism. "How long before you're going to come, Frank?" I asked him, finding myself anxious to witness his flow. "I'm almost there," he panted. "But there's still enough time for you to stick it in your mouth." I shook my head in disbelief. Frank and I had never had oral s*x. The idea of inserting his prick in my mouth had always seemed totally alien. "I've got a big load brewing in my nuts," he informed me, "and I want to shoot it down your throat. I want you to swallow every drop." In my dreams, of course, my mouth had f****d more c***s than I could count. However, in real life, I had always been sure I would be damned to hell if I ever engaged in such a perversion. My background was very religious and conformist. So was Frank's for that matter. We had met, after all, at a church dance. The way we had both been brought up, s*x was all right only between married couples, and then only if certain rules were obeyed. The man on the top, doing all the work; the woman on the bottom, lying still-that was how we had always done it. There had always been an unspoken agreement between Frank and me that any other method, or act besides straight intercourse, was not for us. Of course, in my dreams, I'd let myself go. I'd convinced myself that it really didn't count as wrongdoing just as long as I confined my defiant behavior to my fantasies. And, although I really hadn't thought about it until now, I supposed I'd allow Frank the same privilege. How simple it would all be if what was happening now were taking place within the private confines of our respective unconsciousness. But, alas, it was not that simple. Only one of us was dreaming, and that was Frank. His desire for oral s*x was the excusable product of his sleep-induced fantasy. I, however, was wide awake. The c**k pumping in my hand was real. All too real. And so was the tingling condition of my body. My cunt was foaming with desire, while my tongue licked hungrily over my lips. As much as I hated to admit it to myself, I wanted to suck his c**k. My lips trembled in anticipation of slipping over the stony head and sliding down the thick shaft all the way to his balls. "f**k me with your mouth," he insisted, "I'm almost ready to come." I could not resist my desire any longer. Rationalizing to myself that as long as one of us was dreaming it was technically all right, I lowered my head and opened my mouth. The crown of his prick slid smoothly against my lips as I began to swallow. My first taste of c**k made my nostrils flare and my heart bump in my throat. "Ahhhhhh, that's it," he gasped. "Your lips are so soft. Push them all the way down until I can feel them against my nuts." Once it was in my mouth, Frank's c**k seemed enormous to me. I didn't see how I could ever get it all inside. But I would try. Every inch I gobbled made me want another one. "What a sweet c**k-sucker you are," he praised me when I was halfway down. It was the first compliment he had given me during love-making since we were first married. The immensity of his thick joint was starting to make me gag now, but that didn't stop me. The hilt was in sight, and I was determined to achieve it. I closed my eyes and bore down with one, long, continuous suck. When I opened them again his prick was gone. The whole thing was inside my mouth. I could feel the knotty head lodged in my throat. "Ooooooh, that's good," he sighed, "so damn good." I knew it was wrong, but my heart swelled with pride anyway. I'd finally found something I could do in bed that would bring both of us satisfaction. "Now really f**k me with your mouth," he said. "Work your lips back and forth on my c**k like a cunt. Really make me come." Even though I had never done anything like this in the flesh, the experience from my dreams enabled me to perform like an expert. Abruptly I was pistoning up and down on his stiff rod, stretching the foreskin up to the head and then back down toward his balls, f*****g him with my mouth with eight-inch strokes. All the while, my p***y was getting wetter and wetter... hotter and hotter. It needed some outside stimulation, and I didn't care how brazen I had to be to obtain it. Always before in our s*x life, I had dutifully let Frank make all the advances. If I wanted something I just kept it to myself, feeing it was unlady-like to speak out during lovemaking. Now, however, I was more than willing to abandon my propriety. My cunt was aching for a few fingers inside it, and I was determined to get them. If I was going to go so far as to suck Frank's c**k, the least he could do was finger-f**k me. Seizing his wrist, I slammed his big hand between my legs. The instant his fingers hit, my p***y lips seemed to grasp them, pulling them inside the hungry gorge at the center of my spread loins. His index and middle fingers slid up my cunt instantaneously and began wiggling. And then, as if that sensation wasn't delicious enough, his fat thumb pressed against my clit like it was ringing a doorbell. Now the only thing left for us to do was come. Come together. If we both achieved orgasm, it would be the first time since I could remember. In my feverish anticipation, I was starting to feel like a whole woman again. I sucked his c**k as energetically as I'd ever done anything in my life. God, how I wanted that monster to erupt in my mouth. My belly ached for the hot c*m that would soon fill it if nothing went wrong. Below, his fingers were spreading as they probed deeply within my cunt. The walls of my p***y tingled uncontrollably as they were stretched to divine tautness. Under his gouging thumb, my clit was throbbing like the rhythm of a jungle drum. When I finally came it was going to be like the Fourth of July. As we approached the climatic apex, our grunts filled the room. The bed rocked like it was going to crumble beneath our writhing weight. This was it, I told myself. I was sure nothing could stop us now. But then, of course, I was so far gone that I'd forgotten the whole arrangement depended on Frank being asleep. If something woke him up, our bliss would collapse like a house of cards. Something did. A car backfired on the street in front of our house. In the still of the night, it sounded like a gunshot. Had there been a cemetery nearby even some of the dead might have been awakened. In any case, Frank certainly was. He bolted up in a sitting position with his eyes suddenly as round as half dollars. Needless to say, the first thing he saw was me sucking his c**k. Astonishment etched itself in his face as he realized that what he had been dreaming was prompted by reality. Obviously, it had never occurred to him that it might be his own wife f*****g his prick with her mouth. Like I said, Frank and I had never had oral s*x at any time throughout our marriage. You can imagine his shock when he awoke from a deep sleep to find my lips compressed around his rigid shaft all the way down to his balls. Gulping with the alarm that comes from confronting the totally unexpected, Frank instinctively pulled away from the scene which so troubled him. In the process, his c**k jerked from my mouth and twanged stiffly in the air. Then, with both of us watching, his prick suddenly exploded. I can't tell you how much it pained me to watch him come in mid-air after all the work I'd put into orally stroking him to the point of eruption. The jizz that I had been sure was mine sailed through the air and landed with a succession of plops on the bedding. Wincing with disappointment, I thought how by rights it should be gushing down my throat and engorging my stomach. Secretly, I was so desperate that I had the urge to bend over and lap it up off the sheets, but Frank's withering gaze stopped me. Now that we were both awake and bound once again by the time-honored rules of our relationship, I was prevented from lapping a single drop of the c*m I so desperately craved. Once again, s*x, which was supposed to be so pleasurable, had thwarted me. All the physical side of love seemed to bring me was sheer frustration. "I'm surprised at you, Dorothy," Frank huffed. "I never thought I would see this." With that he turned himself over, buried his head beneath the pillow, and shamed me with his stony silence. By the time it had been replaced by the customary drone of his snoring, I was in tears. By the time I recalled its existence, my cunt was bone-dry. Now I really cried as I realized that once again I had been cheated out of an orgasm. Frank had been the one flaunting all the righteous indignation, but at least he had been able to come. On the other hand, I had reaped the harvest of shame, and my p***y was still as unsatisfied as ever. It just wasn't fair. Something had to be done or I was going to explode.