Exhibitionist to Swinger: Chapter 12

The two police officers were a little bemused as they nursed cups of warm coffee in Renée’s kitchen. After Ben had recounted the story and reported the domestic violence, Renée showed them Ben’s tag and highlighted that his proscribed address was no longer safe.

“There’s no point in taking him into custody,” she said as the officers discussed the situation. “We’re going to ring the helpline. He can stay here, and Ben will talk to his probation manager tomorrow. I need a crime reference though.”

Poppy had joined us in the kitchen, wearing just a short nightdress, as the two coppers muttered between themselves, and their eyes focused on the indecently dressed blonde. They made Ben ring the tagging provider, and he recounted his story, recited the crime reference number, and then passed the phone to the police officers. The operator noted the issue and said Ben’s probation supervisor would be in contact.

And although Renée made up a spare bed for Ben, Poppy enticed him into her room, and they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The following morning, my girlfriend worked from home; she did this occasionally, unlike me, who always worked from her property, and she joined conference calls remotely from 7am. When Ben accompanied her in the kitchen, she had him sign on to work and complete all the mandatory training. “They’re dull. But you have to do ‘em, anyway. So get ‘em done today.”

At around 10am, a knock at the door interrupted Renée’s meeting, and she apologised before dropping from the call. Ben’s probation officer had also come with “the area lead,” and my sweetheart welcomed the two middle-aged women in suits into her home.

“Before we see Ben, I just want a word,” Renée said, and guided them into the lounge, closing the door. I looked up from the armchair. “This is Tom, my partner,” my girlfriend introduced. “I know the process, and I was worried this would happen. So Ben started a job this week that is going to put him through his qualifications. There were hundreds of applicants and only four positions, so it is an outstanding achievement and a real chance for him to turn his life around. Unfortunately, he was a victim of domestic violence last night, and his address is not safe. So we’ve agreed he can stay with me until his tagging ends.”

The two women traded glances. “It’s not as easy as changing addresses. There’s a process to follow.”

“I know,” Renée said. “So let’s start that. Now. Because Ben was violently assaulted last night. At his home. And the police are investigating.” She sighed and gestured around her house. “This has surely got to be an appropriate property. And I’d be happy to have him here. We all will.”

The probation officer eyed Renée carefully, then glanced at me. “It’s unusual. But we’d rather not recall if we don’t need to.” She glanced back at her supervisor, who nodded slightly. “We’ll put a call into CAS-2 for accommodation as well, but that can take weeks and …”

Renée interrupted. “If it takes that long, then he’ll be recalled and lose the opportunity he’s worked hard to get. Now, a probation officer has the authority to approve a change of premises, I believe. Will you at least do that in the short-term so that the threat of him going back to jail disappears?”

And then she played the justice card, pointing out how good it was for Ben, society and the taxpayers if he succeeded at his new role. She tugged the emotional argument, highlighting how Ben had nowhere else to go, and she advanced the practical position, emphasising she was happy to take Ben in, prepared to supervise him and ensure he complied with the tagging conditions. This would mean far less work for the probation service compared to recalling him to prison.

This was Renée in her element; her company paid her enormous sums of money to build, troubleshoot, organise and plan. My lover had built a career from doing this sort of thing at a corporate level, bending people to her will. My girlfriend was persuasive, and they agreed.

Ben’s probation officer approved the temporary change of address and spoke to the prison governor on the telephone. They completed the forms to make it permanent, and then she sat down with Ben and asked him a few questions before leaving with her supervisor.

Two days later, we had a box installed in the house that monitored Ben’s tag. It enforced his new curfew between 8pm and 6am, but with Poppy often fussing over him when he was home, there were upsides to his denial of liberty.

Ben and Renée became close through their exercise; while they couldn’t do any late-night running together because of the curfew, they often spent Sunday mornings on a “long run” at a pace I wouldn’t be able to maintain. Therefore, they used to take a circuitous route to an agreed rendezvous point, whereas Poppy and I would follow a more direct path, meeting up for lunch at a charming cafe or eatery.

But the real advantages came through having a pair of rampant exhibitionists and borderline nymphomaniacs in the house. Renée encouraged it, but if my girlfriend worked late, then Ben and I might plunder the young libertine, spitroasting her, or taking turns in her cunt. A photo to our work addict with “this is what you’re missing” would always receive a thumbs-up emoji in response.

When I travelled to Prague for a stag-do, the two women seduced Ben and Poppy recorded much of the fun, sending me a video clip at midnight of my girlfriend taking Ben’s prick as she 69ed her friend. More decadent than the striptease performance we went to see in the Czech capital.

However, the pair loved to show off, and nothing highlighted this more than a shopping trip one Saturday. Work had been stressful, as her company closed on a deal to purchase a struggling rival, and with the first phase complete, she booked into a private party that evening.

But she also wanted a shopping trip, and the four of us went on a tour of London’s designer lingerie, fetish clothing and erotic boutiques. I never tired of seeing Renée and Poppy emerge from dressing rooms dressed only in skimpy, sexual underwear, a leather corset or a latex catsuit, time after time, showcasing their bodies in racy attire. My girlfriend chose one high-street chain because their changing area was in the centre of the store, and after selecting a very see-through and sexually arousing bra and brief set, that she had to wear over her G-String, she walked into the middle of the shop to “show” me.

But she also exhibited herself to five couples, eight women, and two lone male patrons. Looking at herself in the mirror and viewing the shocked, interested or amused reactions of the fellow shoppers in her reflection, she cocked her hips, played with her breasts and adjusted the briefs, all under the guise of “checking the fit.” Touching her toes exposed everything, and while my girlfriend paraded her sexuality, Poppy’s choice of clothing to “try on” was a red lace nightdress with slits up the side that reached her flanks.

The male shoppers lingered, suddenly interested in the sale rails directly opposite the changing rooms. Poppy spun, making the garment rise, before standing in front of the mirror and repeating Renée’s test of touching her toes. Everyone saw the young exhibitionist had left her underwear in the small booth.

Renée paid for both the bra and brief set and Poppy’s discounted nightdress; she also bought a latex catsuit and two sets of very expensive designer lingerie, several pairs of cheap underwear and a pair of nightdresses at different stores, while Ben and I got unsuitable posing pouches.

We arrived home, changed and left the young couple to cook a romantic meal while we went out to a new venue; the private swingers club in southwest London’s suburbs. Renée and I stopped for a light dinner first at a pub and then parked outside our destination on a quiet industrial estate.

The surroundings didn’t radiate sexual exploration, and I wasn’t sure we’d reached the right place, but Renée directed me past the vehicle maintenance garage and the MOT station, and we parked on the quiet road. When we entered the nondescript 1960s office block, it became transformed into a decadent, energetic club.

Renée showed the receptionist our tickets, and we stepped into a large room with a pool and a very social vibe. Couples were everywhere, smartly and sexily dressed. My girlfriend wore a short summer dress that was stylish and chic, while I had chosen a half-sleeve shirt and smart black jeans.

We blended in with the atmosphere, and I relaxed immediately. There were over two dozen couples and a handful of single men and women, ranging from those in their early twenties to their late sixties. There were playrooms on the upper storey, where we entered, but the real action and fun was on the lower floor. A full dungeon, more playrooms, a dark maze, a dogging truck, a schoolroom, a cinema room and many items of BDSM equipment.

A much older couple gave us the tour, and we watched a couple’s play turn into a threesome. Several people stood and ogled the show, while others used the intense performance to touch their partners and instigate their own sessions.

We got a drink and chatted to a few couples – all older than us – upstairs; Renée’s accounts of our Cap D’Agde adventure thrilled and entertained, before we wandered down to the lower floor once more. It was busier, and she sat me in a public chair, loosened my belt, lowered my trousers and wrapped her lips around my erect cock.

I leaned back, watching the surrounding scene. Renée’s blonde head bobbed into my lap, taking me deep into her mouth, while in the corner, a trio of men took turns on a submissive brunette. A man tied his wife to a St Andrew’s Cross, and a group gathered to watch. The sounds of flesh meeting flesh, groans, smacks, cries, moans, and squeals echoed through the dimly lit space.

To our left, a spanking bench was available, and I guided Renée onto it, flipping her short dress over her back and exposing her bare butt in her cheap G-string. A discarded leather paddle made a satisfying whack as I brought it down on her exposed buttocks, leaving instant red marks on her delicate skin. Around us, a few couples stopped to watch, some amused, but all aroused, as I alternated between striking her derriere and teasing her dripping pussy with my fingers.

Renée arched her back, moaning shamelessly, her hands gripping the bench’s edge as I worked my machinations on my girlfriend, to a crowd of debauchees.

Midway through, a stunning redhead in her early to mid-thirties, wearing a black latex dress, stockings and knee-high boots, approached and ran her nails along Renée’s back. “Mind if I join?” she purred, dropping a large bag on the floor underneath the spanking bench.

“Sure.”

She nodded, her hand delicately dancing over my girlfriend’s spine, and replaced mine between her thighs. Renée gasped, her hips bucking, as the woman’s thumb circled her clit with well-rehearsed precision. The redhead leaned forward, pressing two fingers deep inside her. My girlfriend groaned, her body tightening around the intrusion, her back arching further off the bench.

I let the stranger take control, watching as she worked Renée with delicious ease. The surrounding crowd thickened, drawn by the spectacle of my sweetheart, flushed and panting, surrendering to the redhead’s domination.

The dominatrix took the paddle from me, delivering smacks with her right hand as her left coaxed orgasmic ecstasy from the submissive blonde. Renée gasped, scrabbling against the bench, her body twisted between punishment and pleasure. The woman called to her. “Come for us,” she commanded, twisting her fingers sharply. “We’re all watching you!”

My exhibitionist sobbed, her thighs clamping around the woman’s wrist as she shuddered through her climax. The dominatrix withdrew her fingers slowly, holding them up for the crowd to see Renée’s slick arousal glistening under the dim lights, and then strode to the front of the spanking bench and pressed them into my girlfriend’s open mouth. “Clean yourself up,” she ordered. My sweetheart obeyed, her tongue licking and sucking the intruding digits, moaning as the redhead chuckled.

“Shall we go to a private room?” I asked, seeing the size of the crowd and the number of men with thick erections, eager to plunder my girlfriend. I wasn’t averse to that idea, but I didn’t want to be sidelined like I was on the yacht.

“No,” the domme snapped; there was a cool authority to her voice and her actions. “Let’s go to the video room, though.” Renée’s eyes widened—she knew what that meant, and the redhead grabbed my lover’s wrist and pulled her off the bench, dragging her toward the dim hallway. I followed, my pulse quickening as the small crowd murmured.

The video room was a playroom with a double bed, lube, condoms, and cameras. Next door, a cinema played the stream from the private area, and as we entered, we had no way of knowing how many people were about to watch this debauchery.

The redhead shoved Renée onto the bed, her clothes riding up as she landed on her hands and knees. “Get out of that dress. And what’s your safe words?” the woman asked, looking at us both as she opened her bag on the rubber mattress.

“Err … we don’t have any.”

“OK. Yellow if you want me to slow down. Red if you need me to stop.” The redhead snatched my lover’s dress from her, leaving my girlfriend sprawled in just the flimsy damp G-string.

“What’s your name?”

“You can call me Miss.” The woman took a set of leather cuffs from her bag and secured Renée’s wrists in front of her, and my lover’s giggles turned to a shocked gasp as the dominatrix pulled her hair, forcing her head back. “Good?” She asked me, her fingers tracing the cuffed submissive’s collarbone.

“Yes,” I muttered.

“What’s the dynamic? You’re not much of a top, I don’t think.”

“I’m not,” I admitted. “We’re gangbangers and swingers, mostly.”

“Is that what you came here for?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“You two bi?”

“Renée sort of is. I’m straight.”

A wry smile crept across her face as her gaze bored into my expression. “Safe sex?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “You can strip too.” I removed my shoes, socks, jeans, shirt, trousers and boxers, stacking them on a ledge beside Renée’s red dress, and she took another pair of handcuffs, restraining my hands behind my back and then attaching them to a chain from the ceiling.

“I hope you’ve remembered to bring the keys,” I joked, but the domme ignored me, sliding a blindfold over Renée’s eyes and positioning her on all fours across the corner of the bed.

The dominatrix opened the door, calling into the dungeon. “Any boys want a fuck? This slut is so wet!” Renée whimpered as footsteps approached; I saw that three guys entered, already hard, their eyes locked on my blindfolded girlfriend, lying face-up on the mattress, but she couldn’t know. The redhead gripped Renée’s hair, positioning her mouth toward the first cock. “Open,” she commanded. My lover obeyed instantly, her lips parting as the stranger slid into her throat. The other two men circled behind her, one tugging her G-string and snapping the cheap elastic.

Miss passed him a condom that he reluctantly took and rolled down his sheath. Renée fellated the first cock deep, her throat working instinctively as the second man gripped her hips. She gasped around the intrusion when the thick prick entered her, slamming into her wetness. The domme ran her nails down Renée’s spine, murmuring praise when she didn’t gag. “Good girl. Take it all, my little slut.”

The rhythm was brutal; the bed creaking under the force of their thrusts. I could only watch, straining against my cuffs, as Renée’s body jolted forward each time the man, built like a rugby player, drove into her. “Fuck, she’s good,” he groaned, hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave red marks. Miss smirked, circling them, occasionally delivering sharp slaps to my partner’s ass, already flushed from earlier, to draw muffled whimpers.

And when the guy fucking my girlfriend finished in his condom, and was replaced, the domme lay on the bed, hiked her latex dress to her waist and pressed Renée’s face into her snatch, as a new man rubbered up and plundered her.

Right in front of me. Less than a foot away from me, I watched men queue up to defile my partner. To use her. Renée was blindfolded, handcuffed and exposed, her body jerking violently as each man took his turn, filling her while Miss orchestrated the depravity. The scent of sex, latex, and exertion packed the humid air as Renée’s choked moans mingled with the wet slap of flesh. “Don’t stop,” the redhead hissed, grinding down as my bisexual girlfriend’s tongue worked furiously.

When the third man filled his condom, the domme rolled Renée onto her back, kneeling over her face, as more men queued up to use Renée’s for their pleasure.

And when the next faceless debauchee, a young guy with a slight paunch and black stubble, positioned his covered cock into my lover, the dominatrix lowered her cunt onto my partner’s mouth, face sitting on the submissive and forcing my girlfriend to eat her out.

Renée’s muffled cries of pleasure reverberated against Miss’s thighs. Her hands twisted uselessly in the cuffs, her legs spread wide as the stranger thrust into her with rampant abandon. The sounds of wet flesh smacking, the scent of sweat and latex, the sight of my sweetheart’s flushed and used body bouncing was overwhelming. The redhead threw her head back, moaning as my girlfriend’s tongue worked frantically beneath her. “Oh, fuck … yeah … keep going … right there,” Miss groaned, grinding harder onto her submissive’s face, until she couldn’t resist her orgasm any longer and came with a screeching cry that echoed in the spartan room. “She’s done that before!”

The domme had three more orgasms and several men used my girlfriend; the filled condoms – tied and with a teat full of cum – lined up on another shelf. Even my lover climaxed twice.

But the redhead cut the queue short and went to her bag, stepping into a harness and sliding a curved dildo into it. Renée couldn’t see, but she felt the dominatrix line up a dong at the head of her cunt, sliding into the slippery wetness with ease. “Ohhh fuck,” she gasped, her thighs shaking as Miss fucked her with slow, deep strokes.

“She’s sopping,” the domme chuckled, twisting her hips and hitting parts of Renée’s cunt that none of the previous eight guys had managed. My girlfriend panted, squealing with each thrust into her. The dominatrix wasn’t just fucking her, but with every deep grind, she claimed a little more of her sexuality.

Renée’s legs quivered as the domme rocked forward, forcing my girlfriend’s thighs wider and holding her ankles in the air. She hit angles that made my lover’s toes curl against the sheets. “Beg,” the redhead demanded, slowing her thrusts to a cruel tease. Renée whimpered, her slick arousal dripping onto the mattress. “Beg for it, slut. Beg for my strap-on.”

“Please …” Renée’s voice cracked. “Please fuck me harder, Miss.”

The dominatrix rewarded her with a sharp thrust that punched the breath from my lover’s lungs. “Louder, whore. Let everyone know how much you want to be taken by another woman.”

“Please fuck me, Miss!” Renée’s cry bounced off the dungeon walls as the redhead pistoned into her, the latex-clad domme hammering into my lover. “Oh, fuck!”

The redhead’s smirk was greedy and predatory. “Tell everyone who owns your cunt now.” She punctuated each word with a brutal thrust.

Renée gulped, her body twisting as the strap-on drove deeper than any cock had. “Y-yours, Miss!” The words tumbled out between gasps. “Ah! Fuck, yes. Yours!”

The redhead’s laugh was low, victorious, and she glanced at me. She snapped her hips harder; the harness slapping against Renée’s thighs. “Good girl. Now come for me. Like a filthy little bitch.”

My girlfriend’s body surrendered. Her cunt clenched around the silicone dong and her resolve shattered. Her scream was raw, her back arching off the bed, fingers twisting uselessly in the cuffs as her orgasm ripped through her flesh. Miss didn’t stop, fucking her through it, dragging out every spasm until Renée was limp and gasping.

Only then did the redhead slow, withdrawing the dildo slick with Renée’s ecstasy. The dominatrix turned to me, her smirk widening. “Your turn. I love fucking both the man and the woman in couples.”

My eyes widened at the sight of the giant dong between her legs. “I … err … I don’t take things up there.”

“You don’t or you haven’t.”

“Well, I haven’t,” I admitted. “I’m not … we don’t do that.”

The dominatrix shook her head. “One day, you will. And you’ll like it. Almost every man does. Eventually.” She took the key from her bag and unlocked me, glancing towards my prostrate girlfriend on the mattress. “Now, fuck her.”

Renée, still blindfolded, with wrists bound in front of her and her legs spread wide and glistening. I climbed onto the bed, gripping her hips roughly. “Oh god, yes,” she moaned, recognising my touch.

My eyes focused on Renée and not on the dominatrix; as I entered my girlfriend, a gloved hand touched my butt, guiding me. “Slowly,” she ordered, patting my cheeks gently as I obeyed, sliding into her easily; the domme’s strap-on had stretched her nicely, and Renée’s muscles clenched against my bare prick.

But then the dominatrix’s gloved finger felt cold and wet. Slowly she rubbed my anus with her right hand, still stroking my buttocks with her left. “Gently. I’m going to finger you gently. Remember your safe words,” she added.

Renée moaned as I pushed into her. “Oh, fuck, yes,” she groaned, her hips bucking upwards.

I gasped as Miss’s slick finger circled my entrance. Her grip on my hip tightened, steadying me as she applied gentle pressure. “Relax,” she murmured. The cold lube and unusual sensation made my skin prickle, but her rhythm was soothing and almost hypnotic.

Miss’s finger breached me with a slow, twisting motion. I inhaled sharply, my body stiffening. “Breathe,” she commanded, her other hand massaging my lower back. I focused on relaxing and exhaled. A deep, forbidden thrill that coiled low inside me. For the first time, I’d had anything up there.

And I knew it was supposed to be amazing. Several lovers had offered to do so while giving me a blowjob over the years, but I had always declined. But in this position, and with the commanding and domineering behaviour of the redhead, it felt natural.

The dominatrix chuckled. “See? Not so bad.” She worked me open with precision, each movement calculated to underline her dominance while delivering a weird pleasure I’d not experienced before. My thrusts into Renée grew erratic, my rhythm faltering under dual sensations. Miss added a second finger, scissoring gently. The stretch was sharper now, my body clenching around her intrusion reflexively. “There we go,” she purred, pressure on my insides as I fucked her.

And as I bucked my hips, I forced her touch deeper into me, sliding over my prostate.

The sudden electric pleasure jolted through me. Sharp, unfamiliar, overwhelming. My cock twitched inside Renée as the redhead’s fingers curled just right, sending sparks across every sinew of my existence. “F-fuck,” I stammered, my rhythm stuttering. My girlfriend moaned beneath me, blindfolded and oblivious, her cunt clenching around my prick.

“There it is.” The domme crooked her fingers again, as my hips jerked forward involuntarily, driving deeper into Renée. The pair of sensations of my girlfriend’s tight heat surrounding my dick, and the dominatrix’s merciless pressure inside me were too much. My cock spasmed as my orgasm swept up from within my core, sending shocks across my flesh.

I swore loudly, whimpering as I lost control. My body convulsed, all my muscles tensing and quivering involuntarily. The climax tore through me with breathtaking violence that left me shaking, my thrusts turning ragged as I emptied myself into Renée’s pulsing depths. The redhead didn’t relent; her fingers milked my prostate through each shuddering aftershock until I collapsed forward, gasping, onto Renée.

Miss slipped her latex glove from her hand, chuckling. “Every man likes that. They can’t resist.” We untied my sweetheart and got dressed, although my girlfriend had to discard her torn G-string. Several people congratulated us on a “hot” shoot, and I had forgotten that we were on display for the video room, which looked packed with voyeurs as we returned to the upper floor.

Over a conversation, we discovered the redheaded dominatrix lived close to us, and we exchanged numbers before we travelled home.

It had been a weird day. But it was exploration we wouldn’t have done if we weren’t swingers. By opening up our relationship, we had new experiences and fresh adventures.

And as we entered our house, we saw a naked Ben cuddled up to an unclothed Poppy underneath a blanket in the lounge, watching television. “Hey,” Poppy called to Renée excitedly. “Ben’s asked me out. I’m now his girlfriend!”

“Congratulations. To both of you.”

“Good night?” Ben asked.

“Yeah,” my girlfriend replied, smiling up at me. “We found a bisexual dominatrix. So I got dominated and gangbanged and Tom discovered anal sex!

“so we’ve all had good evenings!” Ben suggested.

Indeed, we had.