Exhibitionist to Swinger: Chapter 17
The day before we travelled to Edinburgh, Renée looked in on the flat, and apart from the new carpets, it was ready for Christmas and her big surprise for Ben and Poppy.
The aforementioned apprentice had progressed considerably since he joined Renée’s company; she spoke with pride at the feedback he had received from his manager, with his commitment to the job and his productivity noted publicly. I joked that for three days of the week he travelled into work and home with Renée, who typically arrived at the workplace before 7:30am and never left before 7pm. So, he was forced into long hours, and although he did a lot of his accountancy course homework while in the office after his expected departure time, his colleagues and senior personnel recognised his elongated presence as “dedication.”
Poppy had found an NHS trust that would sponsor her through her nursing degree, and she had applied, and they offered her an interview. Renée did the same thing with her friend that she did with Ben, coaching the young nymphomaniac in interview techniques. My girlfriend was intense, but also successful, and eventually our lodger understood the messages my sweetheart drummed into her.
Renée had travelled four times with Angelica in less than a month; her protégé used any excuse to accompany my girlfriend on her excursions abroad, and my lover enjoyed her weekly lesbian encounters with the redheaded beauty. I thought they were getting rather close to having to inform HR they were in a “friends with benefits” arrangement, but neither of them was keen to do so.
Each evening Renée travelled and enjoyed her colleague abroad, I met with Annabelle. I didn’t ask if she informed or agreed with Paul that she stayed with me, as that was her business, but she lived near Hackney Marshes, and I’d meet her at Liverpool Street station.
Each time, we’d go for an inexpensive meal, do something and then spend the night in a cheap hotel, fucking until the small hours and again in the morning. Annabelle was very adventurous in the bedroom and bemoaned the lack of originality from her husband in that regard.
But she was also incredibly sociable. Our first time was at a local pizza restaurant in King’s Cross, followed by the comic theatre show I’d wanted to see for weeks, and then several rounds of glorious screwing. She made me laugh, and I looked forward to each weekly meetup.
TV’s Miss Sex was my Miss Sex too. And she got the sort of attention from me she didn’t get from Paul. Despite our obvious spark and connection, my girlfriend was the most important person in my life, and Annabelle loved her husband. Our friendship, as rapidly as it had developed, could not threaten our relationships, and I was looking forward to our trip to Scotland with my sweetheart and our friends.
I drove most of the way; Renée was on a conference call until Northampton and another one from Nottingham. Poppy slept in the back seat, while Ben read his accountancy book. It was when we went past Leicester and my mind wandered to the celebrity seductress once more.
The three-bedroom aparthotel was sleek and modern. Wood effect, dark walls, and spotlights in the ceiling, it radiated high-end contemporary living. The cobbled courtyard and fountain at the back were a throwback to the old city, and the building was decorated throughout with wrapped presents, colourful tinsel, pine trees and sparkling fairy lights to mark the festive time of the year.
Half of the London and Manchester offices had decamped to Edinburgh for the main Christmas party, and shortly after we arrived, the red-haired Angelica knocked on our door, embracing my partner as she entered the upmarket space, her heels tapping on the wooden floor. “Good journey?” Renée asked, making small talk as her colleague entered the room, followed by her on-again, off – again boyfriend.
Things had been better between them in recent weeks; Michael had reluctantly apologised for claiming that his girlfriend had used her sexual wiles to advance in her career, while refraining from making such allegations. He found the bisexual exploration of his partner to be an erotic thrill, and she’d return from each business trip with plenty of stories, as well as sending him a couple of pictures while she was away to tease.
It was not the open relationship I had with Renée, but he was relaxed around her lesbian tendencies, and the Christmas party promised to be a wild adventure, if he behaved himself. I found it to be a little chauvinistic of him; my girlfriend admitted he was very keen for a “proper threesome” where a second female companion to their play would service him, but he would not countenance the idea that Angelica might want to experience a male lover. Essentially, his version of an open relationship was that extra pussy was on the menu, but additional dick was not.
But Renée enjoyed her dalliances and trips away with Angelica too much to rock that boat, and she had every intention of helping make Michael’s fantasies come true.
All three of the company employees signed in to their work laptops on the kitchen table as I completed some coding for my employer. Poppy and Michael went to the supermarket, and neither Ben nor Angelica cared that the nymphomaniac and her new assistant took longer than reasonable to buy a few bottles of wine and some booze for the fridge.
But at 6pm, the trio of women readied themselves; Poppy and Angelica shared a shower, Renée helped them both with their makeup, and then had to adjust the straps on their dresses. It took less than fifteen minutes for the three men to wash and change into our evening suits with dinner jackets. Mine was a present from my girlfriend shortly after we started dating. Ben had bought his from an Internet shop, and it had been sent from abroad, costing him seventy pounds. The burgundy waistcoat and matching jacket looked excellent on him, a touch of class from something that cost little.
Angelica had tasked her boyfriend with acquiring such a suit, and he’d found one on a social media marketplace, spending twenty-five quid for his navy ensemble. So, dressed and ready, we drank the beer Poppy had bought on her excursion earlier in the day, while watching the half-naked women alternate between refilling their glasses with Prosecco and readying themselves.
It was a big occasion for Renée and Angelica; they were in positions of greater power and influence than before, and good impressions were essential. My girlfriend asked me to take a few pictures during the evening, as she would include them in her personal e-mail update after the event to the wider company.
The venue for the party was a hotel, a two-minute walk from our accommodation; the imposing property dated from Victorian times, and the splendour was breathtaking. From the cackling stone figures on the side of the building to the 100ft Christmas tree in the atrium, the Grand Ballroom was our playground for the next few hours.
I sat at the top table with Renée, who looked elegant in her dark green evening dress. There was a touch of the high-fantasy priestess about her, with the ornate beading on the velvet bodice that swept over her athletic body. To my left was the CEO, Tom Flowers, and his wife, although this was a much older woman than the lady who had accompanied him to the Apprentices Dinner.
As Renée said, most of the executive team had affairs or extramarital sex, with or without the knowledge and consent of their partners. It was just an accepted secret within the company. Secretaries and personal assistants were common, but a former sales leader left after his wife found his penchant for prostitutes while travelling to be problematic to their wedding vows, and the ex-legal secretary vacated their role when their very kinky tastes became public.
In short, my girlfriend worked amongst degenerates and debauchees, and she fitted right in.
The meal was fabulous, and over 400 employees lapped up the free alcohol and excellent cuisine. The CEO’s slightly slurred speech did drone on a little, and Renée took the microphone promising to keep her comments brief, and recounted the achievements of the past year.
She finished with a few words. “Another year, more success,” she said, gesturing around her. “We wouldn’t be in the Grand Ballroom if we hadn’t had a brilliant twelve months. And by next Christmas, we want to be somewhere even more palatial. And all of you have contributed to our prosperity and our achievements. We work best when we function as a team. Constructive criticism, fixing what’s broken. So please, kick back and enjoy the fruits of your labours. But when return after the festive break, let’s strive harder, be smarter and face our challenges head on. So let’s celebrate, and Merry Christmas!”
The applause that followed Renée’s speech was deafening, much more than what the CEO received. Throughout her address, everyone watched and listened, entranced by her words and her comments. There were no phones out or quiet chatter, but clearly she was the sort of leader people genuinely wanted to follow.
We left our tables and spilled into the bar so that the hotel staff could clear the room. A DJ set up in the corner nearest the main doors, and as the ballroom transformed from a dining area into a dance floor, with plenty of tables and chairs, the attendees re-entered the space.
Angelica and Renée were in deep conversation that overflowed from words into smiles and laughter. Ben had his arms around two women, Poppy and a colleague, as the three lounged on a wide seat, chattering and giggling.
The dance was good fun, although a small number of Renée’s colleagues tried to spoil it through alcohol inebriation. Conflict that had overflowed from the workplace and into the social setting, with a couple of heated rows drawing attention from the wider crowd.
Angelica intervened in one; as the DJ’s bassline vibrated the glasses, two women at a neighbouring table shouted at each other, and with cutting remarks flying backwards and forwards, the senior manager stepped in to halt the nastiness.
Alas, the moment she came between them, the chubbier woman hurled the contents of her partner’s beer glass at her nemesis, soaking Angelica – and her pale silk dress – in brown ale. Renée interceded; she dispatched both of the warring women to their hotel rooms to sober up, and I took the shocked redhead back to our apartment to clean up.
Her partner was in the lower bar with Ben and Poppy, and it was only a two-minute walk across the street. “Beth and Sandra will be in my office at 9am on Monday morning,” she ranted as she changed into her “spare” outfit, walking into the lounge in a new set of pale green bra and briefs, holding the black dress in her hand. “Beth’s lost a lot of weight, but she’s had the injections. And Sandra wants to get slim but her GP won’t prescribe them. So it’s just kicked off again. You’d think we worked with fucking schoolkids. They were warned that the party is a place for fun and extravagance, but that workplace rules still apply.”
The lingerie-clad woman exuded authority as she shook her head. “I’d imagine they are probably bricking it. They’ve just soaked their boss in beer.”
“They should be fucking bricking it. I’m going to wring their bloody necks on Monday. They are on Liam’s team, and he’s gonna have words too.” She held up her black garment. “And this wasn’t supposed to be for tonight. I packed it by accident.” My eyes narrowed as she straightened it out in her hands. The Lycra fitted dress looked too small for her as she sighed. “It’s not really suitable for a Christmas party,” she mused. “And I think you’d see my bra. I could wear it without, but…”
“You could always ditch the underwear,” I suggested. “I mean, Renée completely would. And you would have an excuse. And it would certainly spice things up for Michael to know you were commando underneath!”
Angelica’s fingers lingered on the hem of the black dress, her hesitation palpable. “He’d fucking love that, wouldn’t he?” she muttered, half to herself but also to me. “He already thinks I spend my time at work getting off with my colleagues.” I cocked an eyebrow at her, and she understood. “Other than Renée. He’d lose his mind if he thought his girlfriend was flashing everyone.” She hummed, tossed the frock over her shoulder, and walked back into the bedroom. “Fuck it. Let’s have some fun!”
Angelica emerged moments later; the black dress clung to her curves like body paint applied to her bare skin. The neckline plunged into her cleavage, revealing a lot of her bosom, and the hem was dangerously close to the top of her thighs; she had to be careful when sitting. “Well?” She challenged, spinning once. “Too much?”
“Renée would wear it,” I replied. “Does that mean it’s too much or not?”
She laughed. “Your girlfriend has balls of steel, though!” Angelica adjusted the hem of the dress one last time, then grabbed her clutch with a wicked smirk. “Alright. Let’s see what Renée says!” She smirked, but there was a flicker of nervous energy in her fingers as they tapped against the sequined fabric of her handbag.
Both of us had underestimated how cold it was in the Edinburgh winter; the two-minute walk back to the venue was made worse by a devilish wind that we didn’t remember ten minutes previously. She entered the Grand Ballroom, and we picked our way through the chairs and tables to where we were sat before.
Renée’s eyes glistened. “Holy fuck, Angelica!” The redhead’s cheeks flushed as my girlfriend’s gaze travelled down her barely covered body, pausing at the places where the fabric clung indecently tight.
“Is it too much?” She repeated, almost concerned at my sweetheart’s reaction.
Renée chuckled, low and appreciative, before sliding a hand possessively around Angelica’s waist. “For the Christmas party? Absolutely. Which makes it perfect.” She sank the last of the wine in her glass. “Fancy a dance, my dear?”
Her colleague blushed as my partner dragged Angelica to the dancefloor; the DJ had started an up-tempo pop-rock classic with plenty of harsh baselines and chords, and the pair were part of a wide group of employees dancing energetically.
But nobody was more ravishing than Angelica; lost in the moment and enjoying herself once more, her dress clung to her skin, only just preserving her modesty as she threw her body into wild dance moves. Confidence and sexuality.
Renée always has to push the boat further. She beckoned to a pair of young apprentices, both male, sitting at a table on the edge of the dancefloor to join them; two of the most senior members of the company summoning the startled men, only eighteen or nineteen of age.
They couldn’t refuse.
And when the DJ swapped from pop-rock to a slower ballad, a shocked apprentice had his arms around Angelica in a skin-tight dress that hugged all of her curves. His hands hovered awkwardly near Angelica’s hips, his fingers twitching as if unsure whether touching the very important employee was a wise idea. She rolled her eyes at his hesitation before grabbing his wrists and planting them firmly on the small of her back. “Relax,” she murmured.
Renée’s dance partner had no such reticence, although her outfit was graceful and classy. His hands effortlessly slid over her velvety material as I watched, seeing them twitch a little lower than her back. But her grip was also below where they needed to be, encouraging the young man to be bolder.
The DJ moved onto a classic “twerking” anthem, designed to get the revellers on the dancefloor grinding and grooving, with fun, rhythmic beats and a suggestive set of lyrics. The two women didn’t need any encouragement to flaunt and flirt.
They both turned, placing the arms of their apprentices to their midriffs and ground into them in tune to the beat. As Angelica bent her knees, sliding lower down the young man, his hands instinctively floated higher, gripping her bosom in the tight Lycra dress. He jerked backwards, like her breasts were electrified; his naivety was amusing.
But the redhead wanted to tease and enjoy herself; she was naturally effervescent, and I had barely seen her all evening without a glass of alcohol in her hand. Her boldness in wearing the short Lycra dress was partly driven by her tipsiness. When she dipped her body and he held her a little too tight, causing the hem to ride up her torso, bunching up and exposing her underwear-less state. Angelica paused, straightened her dress, and grabbed hold of his wrists, holding them against her bosom as she ground into his crotch with her butt, doubtless feeling his nervous erection through his trousers.
The predatory pair of women kept their apprentices for four songs; Angelica exposed herself twice more, and when her fellow dancer twirled her, he saw the tops of her thighs. Renée had seized the opportunity during a slow track to guide her apprentice’s hands downwards to the curve of her buttocks, while she arched her back. I captured multiple pictures of the two senior managers dancing, ready for my girlfriend to use in her e-mail should she feel emboldened.
The six of us left the party at 10pm; it was winding down a little, and I was certain if we stayed much longer we would not have any energy remaining for what the girls planned to do in our aparthotel.
Michael complained to Angelica about her choice of new attire when he saw her but she waved his protest away with a flick of her hand, and the moment the apartment door clicked shut behind us, the redhead collapsed onto the sofa with a groan, kicking off her heels and stretching her legs. The black dress rode up dangerously high, and Renée smirked. “If that isn’t scandalous, I don’t know what is?”
“You’ve had me dancing like a stripper with a pair of apprentices,” Angelica moaned; her boss sunk to her knees in front of her, kissing the inside of her thigh.
“Then let me make it up to you,” she teased, nibbling the sensitive flesh. Her colleague gave a gentle groan as Renée’s lips traced higher; the dress had ridden up completely now, baring her exposed cunt to the room, and she didn’t care. Michael hovered awkwardly by the wall, staring at his girlfriend’s sapphic arousal with a deep scowl. Poppy sidled up beside him, pressing a hand into his chest. “Relax,” she murmured, nodding toward the scene. “Perhaps we’d all be better off if we got a little naked!”
Michael exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching at his sides. Poppy sensed his conflicted unease as her hand slid lower, fingertips grazing the waistband of his trousers. “Do you really want to stand there staring while your girlfriend gets eaten out?” she whispered into his ear. “Or are you going to get naked and discover who much the third nymphomaniac in this apartment wants to suck your cock?”
Renée’s hands pinned the younger woman’s hips to the couch as Angelica babbled a series of muffled cries. The contrast was delicious: my lover’s elegant evening dress still perfectly in place while Angelica’s scandalous black Lycra was rucked up to her waist, her bare legs and crotch splayed shamelessly.
Poppy had unbuttoned Michael’s waistcoast and shirt, and loosened his belt buckle; his focus barely left his groaning girlfriend, with her fingers twisted inside Renée’s hair, grinding against my girlfriend’s face as her manager ate her out.
He didn’t notice Ben’s lover stripping him until she knelt in front of him, taking his semi-erect prick in her mouth. Then his focus shifted, looking down as Poppy’s lips enveloped him. She guided him to the sofa, beside his girlfriend, and stripped him naked, apart from his socks, before turning to his lap, hollowing out her cheeks as she sunk down on his stiff shaft.
I knelt behind Poppy and ran my fingers over her slit, through her underwear; she groaned into Michael’s cock and raised her hips, inviting further access. I gripped her waistband of her lace panties, peeling them down just enough to expose her swollen lips, already glistening. She didn’t know whether it was Ben or me probing her, and she didn’t care.
I slipped in her wetness, pressing against her G-spot as she orgasmed with her mouth around Michael’s cock; he watched my girlfriend bring his partner to orgasm.
It seemed a good time to remove what was left of our evening clothes; that was a quicker task for Angelica and Michael than for the rest of us. My lover retrieved a pack of 24 condoms from her bag and scattered them onto the table, looking directly at Angelica’s beau with puppydog eyes. “So are you starting with me, or Poppy?” she asked before adding.
“Do I want Ben or Tom or both then?” Angelica giggled, squeezing my buttocks as she wandered between us. Her boyfriend never processed her comment, and couldn’t really comprehend the offer that Renée had made; his mind torn in two directions, as he desperately wanted to screw both of the wild nymphomaniacs, but didn’t believe that it would happen. And he wouldn’t countenance sharing his partner.
Which wasn’t how his lover wanted to play.
She came to the party to let off steam and embrace her inner hedonist. She slid her hands over my girlfriend, gliding over her bare bosom as she embraced her, planting a kiss on her lips. “Or I could have Renée,” she finished, holding onto my lover’s wrist and leading her into the double bedroom, flinging the clothes he’d left on the bed into the corner of the room.
Michael’s overwhelmed psyche couldn’t protest, and he watched the two women’s bare bottoms swaying as they strode into the bedroom. Poppy, never one to tolerate not being the centre of attention, pulled his hand. “Come on!” she snapped. “You won’t let the girls have all the fun, will you?”
His gaze focused on the doorway, and she tugged his wrist once more, snapping him out of his recalcitrant trance. Michael stumbled forward, his eyes widening in disbelief as he entered the room to see Angelica lying in the middle of the bed as Renée’s tongue lavished attention on her protégé’s clit and slit.
Poppy understood her role. Pushing Michael against the wall, she sunk to her knees, enveloping his cock in her mouth, and bringing him to an erection, as he watched his girlfriend satisfy her lesbian cravings.
Conflicted? Certainly. Aroused? Absolutely.
Michael’s hands gripped the top of Poppy’s head as he involuntarily rocked his hips, enjoying her tongue swirling over his cockhead and sliding along the shaft. On the bed, Angelica squealed, arching her back as she clutched Renée’s hair, shouting obscenities at her sapphic lover. “Oh fuck, yeah. Just like that. You love eating me out, don’t you? Harder.”
My lover’s fingers slid into Angelica, and the moment she touched the redhead’s G-spot, the groans and moans became louder and more violent. Desperate and snatched. With a shuddering scream, Angelica’s orgasm tore through her. Her thighs clamped over Renée’s ears, and her body shook uncontrollably.
Michael’s grip tightened in Poppy’s hair as Angelica’s climax rippled through the apartment: a raw, guttural sound that made his cock twitch against the young nyphomaniac’s tongue. He couldn’t resist as his arousal surged, his body responding as he watched his girlfriend writhing under another woman’s mouth while he stood there, ogling and being expertly serviced by a girl he’d barely spoken to.
Ben pressed a condom into his hand. “Maybe Renée wants to be fucked,” he said, offering my partner to a complete stranger. Michael stared at the foil packet in his palm as if it were a foreign object, his eyes darting between Ben’s grin and his girlfriend, sprawled onto the bed.
Michael’s fingers trembled as he tore open the condom wrapper, and Renée wiggled her hips, sliding nearer the edge of the mattress as Angelica’s boyfriend nervously rolled the latex sheath along his shaft.
My girlfriend arched her back, offering herself to Michael with deliberate provocation—presenting the curve of her buttocks. His hands tentatively grabbed my partner, and she reached between her legs to guide him into her cunt.
The moment Michael’s cock slid into Renée, Angelica let out a sharp gasp—not of protest, but of sheer voyeuristic thrill. She propped herself up on her elbows, watching her boyfriend’s hips hit against my girlfriend’s flesh with a mixture of disbelief and arousal. My girlfriend smiled at her colleague. “You love seeing him fuck me, don’t you?” she purred. Angelica’s nod was barely perceptible.
“Go harder!” she demanded of her partner. “Pound into her. Fuck her. Fuck her so hard.”
Renée’s groans were more for Michael’s benefit; his cock wasn’t small, but it was smaller than mine, and much bigger pricks had screwed my lover over the past six months. Michael’s thrusts were hesitant at first—shallow, almost apologetic jabs that barely moved my sweetheart’s body. But as his girlfriend encouraged him, he slammed into her with a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm. Only he didn’t look confident, just desperate. Renée arched back, pressing her hips against him, guiding his tempo with little moans that were theatrical rather than pleasure.
Poppy came up behind him, her hand resting on his buttocks. “You’re not doing it quite right,” she murmured, pressing her body flush against his back. Her fingers trailed down to where his hips met Renée’s, guiding him deeper with a firm push. “Like this. Slow, then hard. Make her feel it.”
Michael’s breathing turned ragged as Poppy’s hands manipulated his movements. Her fingers dug into his waist, pulling him back to set the cadence, and Renée’s theatrical moans shifted into something more genuine.
“Oh, fuck!” he squealed, slamming his prick deep into Renée and unloading into the condom. The full sheath glistened in the bedroom lights as he withdrew and Ben slid into my partner, hammering relentlessly into my girlfriend bareback.
Michael watched speechless as my lodger used Renée. But he relaxed, got a drink and enjoyed the show, especially as Poppy sucked the cum from Renée’s cunt. Angelica made eye contact with me, and I quietly left the room with her.
Our bedroom wall was cool against Angelica’s bare back as I pressed her against it, our lips kissing urgently. The muffled sounds of the ongoing orgy seeped through the door – Renée’s theatrical moans, Ben’s grunts, Poppy’s giggles – but we’d snatched a quick five minutes with no one seeing. Angelica panted into the embrace when my palm slid up her inner thigh, sliding over her tempting slit.
“Don’t tease,” she demanded, holding a condom between her fingers. The foil packet crinkled as I snatched it from her, tearing it open with my teeth while she backed away onto my double bed, spreading her thighs. I barely had time to roll the rubber sheath down my prick before she guided me inside, exhaling sharply as I filled her.
Her legs locked against my waist, her arms looped around my neck, as she met my thrusts with her hips; she didn’t want tenderness but the same passionate, reckless energy she’d demanded from Michael earlier in the evening.
I drove into her with hard, deliberate strokes, not so powerful that they made the bedframe shudder against the wall, as we didn’t want an audience. But she wasn’t quiet, moaning openly, her head tipping back as her thighs clamped around my hips. “Fuck, yes!”
I pushed myself free from Angelica’s arms and held onto her ankles, forcing her legs further apart; her fingers slid to her clit, and she shrieked, her voice carrying over the slapping of skin.
This was a clandestine quickie; I pounded her cunt with relentless abandon, seeing as she looked to the door, her pupils wide as she saw her boyfriend watching us. “Oh, Tom!” she squealed. Michael stood frozen in the doorway, his fingers gripping the frame tightly, confusion etched on his face. Angelica locked eyes with him. “He’s so good!”
More for her partner’s reaction or benefit, as she gauged his feedback, while I hammered into her, chasing my orgasm. She groaned with every thrust, panting as she rolled her hips to meet mine, deliberately grinding against me with each stroke, ensuring I hit her deepest spots.
And then she came. She exaggerated it for Michael’s viewing, but I felt her thighs and cunt quiver as she screamed, bucking against me violently before collapsing backward onto the bed, gasping for air. I wasn’t far behind; her theatrics had done their job, and with a few last thrusts, I groaned as I spilled into the condom, my hips stuttering against hers.
Michael stayed, staring at the scene. I wondered what he would do – bolt, fight, play – or something else. But he didn’t say a single word, watching us with complete detachment. And then, as Angelica rose from the bed, grinning at him and taking him by his hand, he stopped and wiped his eyes. A few tears turned into sobs as the emotional turmoil smashed into him. He’d seen Renée and me ravish his girlfriend. He tolerated the lesbian encounter, but me hammering into his sweetheart was an overwhelming sight he couldn’t unsee.
It ended playtime for a while. Michael recovered and apologised, explaining that he hadn’t expected to watch Angelica enjoy herself so much, and Poppy ensured he was feeling better by motorboating him with her bosom. But the pair went into their own room for the night, and I shared a bottle of wine with Poppy, Renée and Ben. We chatted in the lounge, before our partners padded across the carpet and took our pricks in their mouths.
Next to my lodger and friend, I got a world-class blowjob from my girlfriend.
The following morning, Angelica and Michael left with an uncomfortable atmosphere. And I suspected the journey home would not be pleasant.
Ultimately, they were not ready for an open relationship, and we believed they’d pay the price. You cannot enter into this lifestyle unless both partners are fully onboard. And Michael just wasn’t.
