Jazz Swinging - Sex Stories

Jazz Swinging

NOTE TO ALL: As always, this story was dick-tated by me to my husband, who's a much better typist than I am. So any typos are Mike's fault, not mine. Also as always, this really happened entirely as described; sorry, I don't do fiction.

When Mike first suggested, out of the clear blue sky, that we take a ride to a jazz club in a fancy hotel lobby downtown, the type of place we wouldn't ordinarily be interested in in a locale we never bothered about, I was puzzled at first. But then I caught him ogling me with that sort of hungry, burning intensity that I'd caught so many men throwing my way, so many times. It spelled one thing, and one thing only: somehow, some way, this was about SEX, really--about ME, being roundly fucked. Suddenly, I wasn't puzzled anymore; I was excited!

As I started to get myself dressed and put together, he gave the game away completely by insisting that I make myself look, and I quote, "as hot and sexy as possible." Still a little confused, though; Mike had insisted on it being just the two of us, without either of our newfound MMF group-sex, Hotwife-swinging partners, Tom or Zach, along to help us, ummm, more fully enjoy the outing. So what exactly did my dirty-minded man have in mind for me tonight, anyway?

But never mind, no matter; I let my thick, curly locks fall loose and wild across my shoulders the way he likes, and slipped into a VERY scanty and revealing little dress, with my favorite black stripper-pumps completing my little ...

... cum-hither, cum-one, cum-all ensemble. I was eager to see what developed, just brimming with raw lust and anticipation.

We went into the cocktail lounge in the Radisson lobby, walking past a jazz trio sawing away at something completely incomprehensible to me, being careful to keep several feet distant to maintain the pretense that we weren't together as a couple, making me more approachable. As we reached the bar, though, the staid lobby atmosphere seemed to have changed radically, provoking me to swing and swivel my wide, curvy hips quite outrageously under the thin fabric covering them--a display of sexual fireworks I wasn't even aware I was setting off at first. We took seats at the end of the bar, which was nearly elbow-to-elbow with well-put-together, obviously on-the-prowl men so horny you could practically see the pheromones coming off them in waves.

Yep, looked like this WAS my kind of place after all!

As I looked our surroundings over a little more closely, I started to feel that familiar, swoopy little tingle in my stomach and between my legs that signaled the ramping-up of my own incurable, insatiable horniness. I had already scoped out several likely prospects who might be worthy of admission into Christiana's (Not) Secret Garden of Carnal Delight tonight. The lust I felt grew quickly, making my head swim and my face flush. Unbeknownst to me just then, Mike had booked a room for us while I was getting (somewhat) dressed, well aware of how this was likely to end ...