Jazz Swinging - Sex Stories

Jazz Swinging

... up, according to his Slutwife's well-known proclivities. I was beginning to plot the practical aspects of how tonight's hot sex scenario might unfold. I was confident that my naughty husband had definite ideas himself on that already, so I was content to just sit back and follow his lead.

For now. But if you'd told me how quickly my sit-back-follow-lead interlude was going to come to its abrupt end, I would never have believed it.

I had just downed a big swig of my first cocktail, amounting to fully half of it; struggling to choke it all down, I looked up through watering eyes to see the bartender watching me, throwing me a coy smile and a suggestive wink, making me blush even harder than I already was. Maybe my interpretation of that wink as suggestive was no more than wishful thinking on my part; Lord knows, I desperately wanted to believe he'd sussed out what I was here for. He was an attractive man, young and virile and nicely built, leading me to assess him as a primo anony-fuck candidate before I'd even checked out anyone else. As an incorrigible natural-born exhibitionist, the thought of him knowing all about what kind of cock-whore I really am was a tremendous turn-on for me, however unlikely a fantasy it may have been.

On the other hand, though, how could he NOT know? Here I was, sitting at the bar guzzling whiskey on the rocks like water; wearing a clingy, tight-fitting, nearly transparent little dress and stripper-heels; I was to all appearances ...

... unburdened by any male companions; I had given him an unmistakably flirtatious smile when I ordered my drink, even going so far as to lean waaaay over the bar when he came back with it so he couldn't help but catch himself a bodacious eyeful of the enormous, braless boobs veritably falling out of my sweet nothing of a dress. I might possibly even have batted my eyes at him; in fact, now that I thought about it, I KNEW I had, several times. I believe I licked my lips in a lewd and lascivious manner for him also.

Ideally, this hot barkeep was hip and learned enough to know what a '20s Flapper Girl was. Whether he did or not, he had just observed a note-perfect recreation of the 21st-century version, with especial emphasis on the wanton, hedonistic penchant for sexual profligacy the originals had been notorious for.

As I was turning all this over in my dirty little mind, that's when I felt a strong, male hand take hold of my upper arm. I spun the stool around all set to chew some poor fool out for grabbing me unawares, thereby interrupting my absorbing rumination on bartenders being transformed into random fuck-buddies, stopped short by the sudden realization that I was face to face with one of the most handsome, bedazzling smiles I ever had the pleasure to behold. Thick, wavy black hair, cut short but not too short; clear blue eyes that seemed to dance as he made a production of looking me over from head to toe, sloooowly; tall, lean but not skinny, quite obviously bedazzled his ...