The Wife Swap Club

By FootCrazy

Bill and Carol introduce Dave and Diane to a "private social club" and teach them a new way of living life.
****ADULTS ONLY !!****

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pure Taboo Erotica
• Release date: May 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458111579

FootCrazy

FootCrazy was born to write hardcore erotic fiction, his parents were big fans of the medium and had acquired a vast collection of "pocket readers". He found his parents collection at a young age and became enthralled with the covers (most were illustrations of women in various stages of undress and various sexual situations). When he opened them up and started to read them it changed his live forever. He started to write erotic stories in high school and has a large collection of "short stories" he has written over the years. We hope to be able to publish them in volumes one day. He is a college graduate with a degree in Comparative Literary Studies.

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The Wife Swap Club

By FootCrazy

Copyright 2011 by FootFreak Press

Smashwords Edition

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THE WIFE SWAP CLUB (FootCrazy)

CHAPTER ONE

Another drink, Dave?

Yeah, okay, Bill, I said. I walked with Bill over to the bar, where he refilled my glass. We took our glasses out to his back deck and settled down to watch the sun set.

Diane and I had gotten to Bill and Carol's a few minutes late, but not too bad. I had completely forgotten the invitation, and worked late that day. I was surprised to find Diane talking to Jenny, the teenager from across the street, in our front yard when I got home.

Diane turned to me, and asked, Did you forget we're having dinner tonight with Bill and Carol?

My mouth dropped open, and then I quickly shut it. Oh shit! I threw my briefcase back in the car and trotted inside. I'll be right down.

Diane laughed and led Jenny inside, as I heard Brian say: Mommy, Daddy said a bad word!

We'll just have to spank him, she told our eight-year old.

Brian took off after me up the stairs, yelling how he was going to spank me. I grabbed him up and returned him to his mother, who deposited him, in turn, with Jenny. Jenny was obviously going to be the babysitter. After a quick shower, I changed into some khakis and a pullover. Diane was ready to go, in slacks and a blouse.

At the front door, Diane kissed the boys good-bye and we left. Looking at my watch, I told her we had time to walk. The weather was perfect, and we walked the two blocks holding hands. When we got to the front door, I rang the bell several times to no response, but then we heard a yell and walked to the side fence.

Come on around, Bill's going to barbecue! called out Carol from the deck.

Diane and I entered the back yard and climbed the stairs to the deck. Bill came out the patio door with a plate of steaks, which he set on the picnic table. He and I shook hands, as Carol and Diane hugged.

Bill and I have known each other for more than ten years, going back to when we roomed in college. He was best man at Diane's and my wedding, and I was an usher at his and Carol's. When she first met Carol, Diane couldn't figure out what she saw in him. They're so different! I mean, it's like Mutt and Jeff!

I suppose she was right. I mean, Bill is maybe five-two, if he's stretching, has lost most of his hair, and only a religiously kept schedule of poorly played racquetball keeps his weight in check. An accountant. They have no kids. Carol is five-ten in her stocking feet, dark haired, dark eyed, a drop dead knockout. She used to be a model. I saw some of her work in a lingerie catalogue. Long legs, huge tits. In heels she towered over him. At his bachelor party, somebody gave him a scuba snorkel for when they danced. God knows she could smother him with those tits.

Actually, I had seen more of those tits than Bill knew. Once, a few years ago, Diane and I had been over for dinner, and the main bathroom was being rebuilt. If you wanted to piss, you used the bath in the master bedroom. And I needed to piss.

Along several walls of the bedroom were photographs of Carol from her modeling days. All were tastefully and exquisitely done blowups of several of her more risque shots -- teddies, gowns, garter sets, and the like. After finishing my business, I had stood there and looked them over. And I noticed an open photo album on a nightstand. Sneaking over, feeling guilty, I had looked at the Polaroids inside. Obviously done by Bill himself, these pictures showed Carol, still in lingerie, but considerably more exposed. Her gorgeous tits pointed at the lens, and in several shots her pussy was exposed. It was shaved smooth, and had a large dildo inserted.

The sight definitely got me worked up, and I really gave Diane a good fucking that night. Later that summer, we took the kids to Disney World, and rented a video camera. When we came home, before I returned the camera, I rigged a tripod up and we made a dirty movie. It was pretty standard, I suppose, and of course, no changing angles. Basically, I was a handyman working on an electrical outlet. Diane wore nothing but a very sheer blouse, a tiny wrap skirt, long stockings, and high heels. While I was turned away from her, working at the baseboard, she unbuttoned her blouse and lifted her skirt and played with herself. As I finished she tugged her skirt down and put her tits back in her blouse and left it unbuttoned. Then I asked if anything else needed fixing. She responded by removing my toolbelt and unzipping me. You get the idea. I worked on her. She still gets turned on when we watch it occasionally.

I laughed and said, Well, it's one of two things. Either it's because he's a genuinely nice guy or it's because he's hung like a horse.

Diane stared. No. You don't mean... Bill...!

Honey I roomed with the guy three years. Secretariat should be so lucky.

Diane and Carol got to be real close. Later, she told Diane she quit modeling because it was a ... rat-race meat market... God knows Bill was about as far from that as the moon.

The steaks and veggies were great. Carol tapped Diane, and the two cleared the table and headed for the kitchen for cleaning and girl talk. Bill refreshed his and my glass, and we lazed back on the lawn furniture. After a moment, he turned towards me.

Dave, one of the reasons we asked you and Diane over tonight was to make an invitation to join a small club Carol and I are part of.

One of the reasons?

Hey, having dinner with friends is another reason. Anyway, as I was saying, the club members thought that maybe you and Diane might want to join, so they asked me and Carol to talk to you two.

Should we go get Carol and Diane? I looked around; the women were still inside out of sight. What club?

Carol's talking to Diane about it inside, said Bill, somewhat opaquely. The club really doesn't have a name, Dave.

He continued. Just hold your questions for a moment, Jim. It's a small group, made up of people here in the development. You and Diane meet all the qualifications, you're young, healthy, attractive, and in a stable relationship...

So how'd you qualify? I asked. What the fuck was he talking about? What the hell kind of club was this?

Bill made a face at me and continued. Carol and I assured the group that you and Diane were quite discrete. Discretion is an important aspect to membership in the club.

Discrete? What is this club, Bill? The Weathermen? The Nazis?

Of course not. It's a, er, social club. We get together roughly once a month for a small meeting. There are normally twelve members, six couples, but recently a couple moved away. So now there's an opening.

Okay, so why the secrecy?

You have to promise you won't divulge anything about the group to anybody. Or else I stop now and we talk about the weather.

Yeah, okay. Sure. Cross my heart and hope you die. Now what gives?!

Well, it's a swing club.

Huh? If I had heard Bill correctly, I was going into major shock. But I couldn't have heard him correctly.

A swing club. You know, a little swap party, that sort of thing. You know what I'm talking about.

Yeah, I do. A crash from the kitchen indicated that Carol had also gotten to the heart of the matter. But no screams of indignation followed any bellows of We're leaving! Maybe Diane could take this kind of news better than me. Bill, I think you would have surprised me less if you were a Nazi.

It's surprisingly common, Dave.

Not to me it isn't. And besides, you're my best friend! How the hell do you keep something like that to yourself? I had no idea. All this time you've been leading a secret life!

Oh, bullshit. We're the same people you've known for years. It's just that every few weeks we do something a little out of the ordinary. I mean, we go to a cocktail party. This one just gets a little more personal.

I guess!

I was quiet for several moments. At the first mention of the club, I had drained my drink. Now I held the glass out for more.

So who's in this club?

Can't tell you until you join.

How's it work?

Well, every four weeks we meet at somebody's house for a cocktail party. It rotates month to month. That person provides booze and chips and dip. And like I say, it just gets a little more personal.

Why us?

Why not? I told you the selection criteria. You two are young, healthy, good looking, stable, discrete -- you fit! We talked it over at the last get together.

Wow. Who among my friends in this neighborhood were in this group? Obviously, Bill and Carol weren't the only ones in the group we knew. Or would know if we joined. Joined? What, did they sit around naked passing a ballot box and black balls like a demented frat house?

I don't know Bill. I mean, I never thought... I'd have to talk to Diane... swapping? I just don't know.

Diane came out of the kitchen with Carol about ten minutes later. She had a strange look on her face, and we excused ourselves and went home.

CHAPTER TWO

We walked back home kind of quietly, Diane holding my hand. The two blocks took only minutes. It was only half past nine when we turned up the walk, but Jenny had already put the kids to bed. Diane fished out a couple of fives for Jenny, and I watched from the porch as the girl went across the street to her own house.

Pretty little thing. I often saw her walking around the neighborhood. Slim, with long legs. A bit skinny, but nice, pert young breasts. She mostly wore cutoff shorts and tight, white tee shirts. I'd seen her a few Friday nights heading out on dates, usually in the same sort of outfits, but without the bra she wore during the day. Nice nipples. I could just see her in the back of some old Chevy, tee shirt up over her tits, shorts around her ankles. She'd be moaning and urging on some pimply faced teenager, his pants around his ankles. They'd be thrashing around, sweaty, complaining about the cramped back seat, coming, and then doing it again anyway.

I shook the thought from my head. Inhaling deeply, I went inside. Diane was already upstairs. I could hear her in the shower. I started to undress.

The shower went off and I could hear Diane drying herself. I was pulling my pants off when she came out of the bathroom. She was naked, her body glistening from the remaining moisture. She was still drying her hair as she walked to her closet. She pulled out a long, shapeless flannel nightgown and began to pull it over her head.

Damn, but she still looked as good as the day we met. Average height, maybe five-five. Great ass and legs. Narrow waist, almost wasp-waisted, even after two kids. No stretch marks. I guess that baby oil I rubbed on her belly really did work. Certainly it had made her horny enough.

She turned towards me as she lowered the nightgown past her hips. Her pussy hair was trimmed real short and neat. Her large, full breasts showed briefly as she began to button the front. They sagged a little, but thirty-eight Ds will do that. They swayed and bounced seductively as she continued buttoning.

She looked up when she realized I was staring. Then her gaze dropped, down to my groin. I looked down also, to see my erection pointed straight up and out. She smiled and said, I don't think he's quite ready to sleep yet. I smiled, and twitched my cock at her.

Diane began unbuttoning the nightgown. Halfway through, she reached into my closet and threw me my silk bathrobe, and a pair of silk pajama bottoms. Why don't you go down and pour us a couple of brandies? I'll be down in a few minutes.

I was grinning as I slipped on the robe and went down the hallway. Liquor usually got Diane fairly horny, brandy got her very horny. I went downstairs to the den and turned on a lamp in the corner. I popped a bulb out and angled the shade so the light wouldn't be too bright. I opened my robe and pulled on the pajama bottoms, then tightened the robe again. I turned on the stereo, and put some light jazz on the CD, turned down low. Finally I poured two snifters of brandy and sat down in my lounger.

Diane entered after about fifteen minutes. The wait was worth it. She had blow-dried her hair, and it hung in golden curls to her shoulders. She was wearing a sheer, almost transparent, black, ankle length satin robe, open at the front, which