Our First Swing Experience (eventually led to cuckolding years later)

Our First Swing Experience – Andy & Mindi

The swing club pulsed with slow bass and flirtatious laughter, the kind that curled through the air like perfumed smoke. Mindi and I walked in hand-in-hand, her stilettos tapping a sharp rhythm beside me, her lips glossy, her dress short and scandalously low-cut in the back. She had chosen something emerald, hugging her curves like it was jealous of the eyes watching her. I was nervous, I won’t lie—not just the newness, but because she wore that look, that glint in her eyes, like a cat on the hunt. Confident. Hungry. A different woman, almost. Mine, still, but… less mine tonight.

We were just supposed to observe, feel out the space, maybe chat a little. But Friday nights, we hadn’t known, were open to single men as well—unicorn hunters, bulls, voyeurs. The place had the thrum of possibility, like sex could drip from the walls.
The first couple we met were older—mid-fifties, seasoned veterans of this world. The wife, blonde and blunt in the best way, told Mindi in hushed but excited tones about the etiquette, the electric highs, the times she’d come so hard she cried. Her husband was quiet, calm, sipping something brown from a crystal glass, but you could see he was proud of her openness. They weren’t there for us, though—they had a date that night, some guy they’d been grooming via email, and when he arrived—a tall black man with designer jeans and a grin like a knife—they left us with a wink.

That was when Mindi noticed him.

He was leaning near the bar, watching us with a gaze that felt warm and unrelenting, like a brand slowly pressed to skin. Mature, Latin, maybe mid-40s. Salt-and-pepper at the temples, gold watch, body language like he had nothing to prove. His eyes lingered a bit too long on Mindi’s cleavage and her thighs crossed slowly in response. Then she leaned close, her voice soft in my ear.

“Go invite him over.”

Her lipstick brushed my cheek and I rose, body electric. I approached him and introduced myself—he smiled, firm handshake, called himself Rafael. Cuban-American, businessman, in town for the weekend. Assertive in a way that didn’t feel rude—he knew how to flirt, how to charm, how to make your girl feel seen.
We talked a while, the three of us, then drifted toward one of the semi-private back rooms with gauzy curtains and red leather couches. There was an understanding between all of us, unspoken but thick in the air: Rafael was there for her. I was part of the set, the audience, the husband-turned-participant—or maybe just a witness.
Mindi lay back on the couch, dress peeled down by Rafael’s strong fingers. She was already wet, nipples peaked, breathing fast as he kissed her inner thighs, mouth trailing dangerously close before pulling back just to tease her. I sat to the side, stroking absently, mesmerized by the sight of another man making her shiver with nothing but lips and breath.

His tongue slid into her folds, slow and swirling, and she moaned—“Ohhh, fuck…”—arching up into his mouth as he worked her like a man obsessed. Forty-five minutes. I counted them without even realizing. He never faltered, never rushed. He kissed her clit like it was a secret, suckled it between licks, fingers plunging deep, curling until she clenched and gasped and came, then again, and again.
My hand worked faster. I couldn’t help it. Her hips were rolling in rhythm with his tongue, her cries filling the curtained space like music, and I came suddenly, violently, cock twitching, hot spurts flying and landing warm on my chin, my chest, my lips—unnoticed by either of them as she twisted beneath him.
Then Rafael looked at me, eyes burning. “Come here,” he said, nodding toward her head, voice thick.

I obeyed.

We positioned her for 69, and I laid underneath, her thighs gripping my head, her wet pussy grinding into my face as she sucked me softly, lazily, with her tongue dancing. Then I felt him behind her. I watched it. His cock—thick, heavy, dark—slid into her with a deep groan, her mouth muffled around me as she gasped at the stretch. Her back arched, and I got a perfect view of it. Inch after inch disappearing inside her.
Slap. Slap. Slap.

His hips smacked into her, balls swinging low, heavy. I felt them graze my face, each thrust pushing her deeper onto me, his sack slapping against my cheek, warm and wet with the slickness of her.
“Uhhhnn—ohhhgodyesyes,” she cried, barely able to keep sucking as the pleasure rocked her.
Rafael grabbed her hips tighter, fucking her harder, faster, until her whole body trembled. Her mouth opened wide on my cock, then clamped down as she came again, throat humming around me. I came a second time right into her mouth. She didn’t stop, didn’t flinch—just sucked deeper, swallowed, moaned.
“Good girl,” Rafael muttered. “Take it all.”

Then he grunted, thick fingers digging into her skin as his rhythm faltered. He slammed deep and stayed there, cock buried, his balls pressed against my chin, twitching. I felt the heat of it inside her, the way she spasmed around him, her legs clamping down like she never wanted to let him go.

Later, as we lay together, Rafael calmly confessed something with a smirk.
“I like feeling the husband down there. It adds something. The contact… the sound when I swing low.”
Mindi just smiled, licking her lips, utterly wrecked and glowing. Her fingers were in my hair, stroking, possessive and gentle.

I knew then—this was just the beginning.