Swinging
Fred and Angie swing again. Just not in the same way.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Tim
I hope you enjoy the next adventures of Fred and Angie. Read their first installment, here.
— S
This time, no guests, no invitations. Just the two of them and their own rhythm, richer now for the tasting of others, but hungrier still for each other. The experience had peeled back layers they hadn’t known were there: Fred’s soft dominance had grown surer, Angie’s submission deeper, yet threaded with flashes of daring. They spoke of it in low voices over breakfast, in the dark before sleep– hands wandering, reliving the thrill– about how it had sharpened their craving for one another.
Tonight, they would swing again. But not in the way it meant last time.
Fred had spent the afternoon rigging the sex swing in the spare bedroom they’d quietly turned into a private, pervy playground. Black leather straps, sturdy chains bolted into the reinforced ceiling bean, a wide padded seat that hung at hip high. He tested the tension twice, the metallic clink of carabiners like a kinky soundtrack.
