Swing, Swing # 14: Three-Man Train

For all my sulking, Danny never showed up that night. He staggered in the next morning reeking of booze and looking like he'd just spent the night making sure that everyone knew his name.

Esther met him at the door when he walked in. I could hear them arguing through the wall and I should have felt shame about eavesdropping, but hearing them go at each other made me extremely happy. After that long month of watching them be the perfect couple, their implosion was a special Valentine's Day present just for me.

I smiled all through the day after their little tussle. My lectures that day were actually enjoyable and for the first time since the turn of the year we actually had a sunny day. The best part was, I could go back to the flat and sit in the communal area without having to watch them fuck but not fuck. That's what I would I have done, but I had a play-date lined up.

Some guy from the outskirts of town messaged me and asked me to come over. He had a bitch desperately in need of dick and one guy wasn't enough.

I couldn't believe my luck. I used to hunt for women like a starving dog and now they were being thrown at me. All I had to do was show up.

The bus ride over there was short. We met up in one of those typical British bars that looked like a throwback to WWII era, like the people inside were drinking away the sorrows brought on by the fact their boys were getting hammered by the Germans.

A guy in the corner waved at me as I walked in. It was the guy who'd messaged me. I didn't give him a face picture but he probably figured I was the guy since black people probably don't visit such bars very often. With him was a slim woman in her late forties hunched over the table, doing her best to make herself small and easy to overlook.

I wish I could tell you what her face looked like but at the time I knew nothing about the power of eye-contact so I kept my gaze on her C-cup titties. I ordered a beer and sipped it while she went on about her life. The guy who'd invited me (forgive me but I'm terrible with names) wore glasses and had a tick on his face like he'd recently suffered from a stroke. Halfway through my drink another black guy showed up. Jay, or Kay or Ray or something like that, and we moved on to glasses guy's place.

What I love about swinging is how everything is already agreed upon before we even get there. Straight up to the bedroom and clothes off within minutes. I'd learnt from my first meet to take point or get brushed aside so I kissed the woman a little, fondled her tits and prepared to mount her. Right before entry I turned around and asked for a condom. The other two shook their heads and urged me on without one. Ah, I thought, It's one of those meets. Brilliant. I hate using condoms anyway.

I plunged deep into the bitch and smiled. She was wet, and I mean really wet. Fuck all the stories you hear about how older women don't get wet. This bitch was wetter than anything I'd experienced since our live-in maid.

Once upon a time I was all about performance. I prided myself in how long I could fuck, making her cum repeatedly before I shot my load. I didn't do it for her benefit though. I just liked to fuck for hours. But pussies like hers are my kryptonite. No man can last in a gash that divine so I bust a nut so hard it probably broke her uterus. Jay/Kay/whatever-his-name climbed on next and finished just as fast. I was tempted to eat the creampie but wasn't sure how the other two react.

Our host climbed on last, then we were done. The bitch looked satisfied enough, not that I cared. My load was shot, the was woman was added to my conquest list, and it was time to go home.

Nothing beats a ride after busting a load. I always insist that you should never cuddle with a slutty woman. It reeks of desperation and it makes her feel like less of a whore which is not in my best interests. Letting her believe that she's a whore is what keeps her coming back for more.