Interracial Swinger Novels & Stories

Larry distractedly tore his gaze away from where he was getting a great view of Rebecca standing naked in the kitchen in all her glory. “Are you kidding? I’ve been trying to get my hands on that hot blonde bitch for years,” Larry replied, the hard cock between his legs twitching slightly. “Max and Rebecca are swingers but because I’ve never been married or had a hot girlfriend I’ve never had the chance to indulge in Rebecca’s fantastic goodies. I’m not about to let the opportunity slip away, I might never get another chance at that ass,” he added, looking back towards Rebecca’s beautifully rounded posterior.

Celine Sherman and I were supposed to get married on the same day. Three days before my wedding, by the uncanniest of coincidences, I found out that my fiancé, Andrew Hammond, intended to swap the two wedding cars intended for Celine and me, respectively. Celine was supposed to marry into the struggling and powerless Wright family, but Andrew planned to have me take her place. His words came as a huge shock to me, and it was something that I never would've seen coming.

I replied, trying to sound casual. The woman, whose name tag I finally noticed read "Sandra," led me to the office. As we walked, I asked her, "Did I tell you anything about my trip last weekend?" Sandra nodded, "I hope your trip to Aspen was eventful," she said, a playful twinkle in her eye. My hope deflated immediately. Ashton hadn't told Sandra anything about going on a business trip. That made sense. If she had, she would have had to explain the wife swap.

Property? Me: Uh, are you like, swingers? Harold: Do we look like swingers? Marcy: Swinging is about the sex. Nudism is about being unclothed. It has almost nothing to do with sex. It's about comfort and freedom and relaxation. Harold: Answer me, boy. Do we look like swingers? Me: Uh, no? Harold: Damn straight.

We’d been best friends since college—roommates, confidantes, partners in every filthy fantasy we’d ever whispered to each other late at night. Both of us are bi, insatiable, and tired of vanilla hookups that have left us wanting more. For months the slow burn had been building with these five men we’d met through a very discreet, very exclusive swingers group online. Jake was the ringleader—tall, broad-shouldered, with a cock I’d seen in photos that made my mouth water. Tyler, athletic and cocky, always sending teasing videos of him stroking himself. Derek, tattooed and intense, the one who could dirty-talk me into a puddle. Marcus, the gentle giant with the biggest dick of the group and the

“I heard that Mr. and Mrs. Harrison are swingers.” “Swingers, as in…” “Yes! They like to hook up with other couples and have big orgies!” Another gasp echoed through the room. “How do you know this, Carrie?” a voice called out, to which Carrie’s cheeks tinged an even deeper shade of pink. I watched as she nervously stammered out an excuse, then finished the last of her wine in one big gulp and scurried out of the room for a refill, clearly guilty of partaking in these swinger orgies.